


Nothing But Love

by brightlycoloredteacups



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ivar has a son, Ivar the Boneless - Freeform, Modern Day, Viking AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 38,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlycoloredteacups/pseuds/brightlycoloredteacups
Summary: As a teacher, you feel it's your duty to meet with parents to update them on their child's progress. You decide to have a meeting with the infamous Ivar Lothbrok.





	1. Delight

        For the umpteenth time in an hour long period, you smooth down your pants and blouse, hoping at the very least you looked professional. You were going to meet with a Lothbrok today. It wracked your nerves thinking about it, but you had a duty as a teacher. You had to at least try to talk to him.  
        Kattegat was a very small port town where the Sons of Ragnar, as they were affectionately called, ruled everything. From the nightclub, to the bar and grill, to the clothing shops. They were everywhere. To make matters even worse, they were the ones that paid generous amounts of money to the private boarding school you taught at. Children from all over came to this little school to be taught by the best and brightest. You could not afford to offend a Lothbrok.  
         Once the director of the school had found out your plans to meet with the most infamous Lothbrok son, Ivar, he’d taken you into his office and yelled at you. He begged you to reconsider this meeting, even threatened to fire you, but you wouldn’t budge. Your students were the most important thing to you; you couldn’t let them down by way of negligence. That was for other teachers, not you.  
        You had squared your shoulders and stoutly argued your case. This meeting needed to happen, it was going to happen. Half of what you told the director went over his head as he simply glared at you, grinding his teeth in frustration. But, the point was made, and you walked out of the office feeling mighty accomplished. But now that you were faced with the beige doors that lead into the conference room, doubt filled you. You took a deep, calming breath, and opened the door.  
        Stepping inside, you stopped at the sight of Mr. Ivar Lothbrok glaring at you. He was sitting at the head of the table, hands folded neatly, hair slicked back. His dark blue suit looked rather dashing on him. His crutches leaned against the table. He looked all kinds of intimidating. You gulp, but put on your best smile. “Hello Mr. Lothbrok” You say, rushing taking a seat next to him. “Let’s get this over with.” Ivar says as you get your papers together. “What has Siggtrygg done now? Pulled a girl’s hair? Threatened another boy with bodily harm? Caused actual bodily harm?” You look at him, mouth open as he lists off possible offenses. You sit and stare, not sure what to say.  
         “Well?” Ivar snaps. “I’m a busy man, I don’t have all day. Speak up, what happened? How bad is he?” You recognize the defensive tone to his voice. It was well known that of all the Lothbrok boys, Ivar was the worst when it came to his son. His fierce love for Siggtrygg made him, at times, a danger to teachers and caretakers. “Mr. Lothbrok, your son is a delight to have in class.” This is an honest statement. Siggtrygg was a wonderful boy if you knew how to deal with him.  
         Ivar looks at you, carefully searching your face for a lie. “We’re talking about the same boy, right?”  
         “Yes, Siggtrygg, your son.” You nod. Ivar is quiet for a few moments. “I’m sorry, I still feel as if I’ve misheard you, did you say my son was a delight to have in class? Siggtrygg Lothbrok is a delight?” You nod your head again, giving him another gentle smile. “Yes, Siggtrygg Lothbrok, I know he’s had some troublesome teachers in the past, but I find him very delightful.” Ivar seems to relax, though the scrutinizing glare is still in place. “If he’s such a delight, why am I here?” Defensive tone gone, cautious tone in place. This was a good sign, at least he was going to hear her out. “I wanted to talk about Siggtrygg’s academics.”  
        “Why? I thought he had perfect grades? Is he slipping all of a sudden?”  
        “Mr. Lothbrok,” you move to place your hand on his forearm, but stop yourself at the last second. You felt as though Ivar would be someone who detested being touched. “Please, allow me to explain?” Ivar rolls his eyes, motioning for you to get on with it. “Siggtrygg, as you no doubt realize, is a very bright boy.” You open the folder in front of you to pull out some papers. Siggtrygg’s work. “He goes above and beyond on writing assignments, and his art skills far surpass those of any ten-year-old I’ve ever seen. He’s-well, he’s very much above average intelligence.”  
        “You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know.” Ivar says, taking the papers from you. He looks them over carefully, a small smile on his face, eyes filling with love. It was a relief to see the love there. So many parents that sent their children to the boarding school wanted to shape and mold their children into what the parent could never be. It was heart breaking to see a child’s light die slowly behind their eyes to become nothing more than miserable human beings. Ivar seemed different, you appreciated that. “I believe part of Siggtrygg’s disruptive nature is born in part by his intelligence.” Ivar’s gaze snaps back at you, you continue quickly before he can berate you. “He’s bored with the lessons. We don’t have a program that allows children to be placed into a higher grade, or else that’s what I would suggest. However, I would like to have permission to alter his lessons to ones more appropriate for him. Perhaps introduce him to chemistry, physics?”  
         Ivar looks at you steadily. You feel yourself blush, but keep his gaze. “I can see why you’re my son’s favorite teacher.” Ivar finally says. You blush harder at the praise, pleased to be someone’s favorite teacher. “Very well,” Ivar says, gathering the papers to hand them back to you. Your fingers brush his and a trail of sparks manages to make it up the tips and down your spine. “May I keep this picture?” Ivar asks. He holds up the one Siggtrygg did of him. It was clearly an experimental piece, geometric designs blended together to make Ivar’s likeness. It was bright with color, beautiful really. “Oh, no.” You say, tugging the paper from his hands. “I promised Siggtrygg I would frame it for him and put it in the art hall.” Ivar makes a noise but doesn’t argue. “Thank you for the meeting Mr. Lothbrok.” You stick your hand out to shake. Like your father taught you, your shake is short, firm, and to the point. You ignore the tingling sparks.  
        He gathers his crutches and follows you from the conference room. As you both make your way out of the school, you tell him about events in the months that you’d think Siggtrygg would enjoy. You press particularly hard for the art fair, knowing that it was the one thing, above all others, he’d love to participate in.  
Finally, you both reach the outsid. “Thank you again for meeting with me Mr. Lothbrok.” You say, this time, you do touch his arm. “Keep me informed of my son’s progress yes? You have my email.” You give him one last winning smile. “I will.” You tell him. With that, you turn and begin making your way towards your car.  
         As you slide into the driver’s seat, you try to still your beating heart. You were always the romantic, falling in strong like with every man who ever paid attention to you. It was dangerous to be so attracted to Ivar despite only meeting with him for thirty minutes. Your ability, or curse, depending on which you preferred to call it that day, was one you’d since learned to control. Sure, you were falling in strong like with Ivar, but you’d never act on them.  
        You couldn’t afford to really. You were Siggtrygg’s teacher, you would only be his teacher for another few months, then he’d be off in another teacher’s classroom. It broke your heart to think about, he had been your favorite student so far, but such was life. After that, you wouldn’t see Siggtrygg or Ivar again, so there was no use in getting all caught up in him. No use at all.  
*  
        Ivar sits in the back of his limo with Siggtrygg. The boy has been despondent since learning of the meeting with his favorite teacher. “Boy?” Ivar asks, worried. “She hates me, doesn’t she? Just like all the rest.” Siggtrygg whispers. He is refusing to turn to Ivar, instead, looking at the passing buildings as the limo lazes by. “She doesn’t hate you,” Ivar soothes. Siggtrygg sighs and turns his gaze from the window to his lap. “Of course she does.” He mutters. “All the teachers hate me, they always will.”  
       “Boy, come.” Ivar says, yanking his son to his side. He wraps a comforting arm around the small boy’s shoulders. Ubbe’s warning about spoiling his son with affection briefly bounces around in his head, but he ignores them. Ivar will give as much affection to his boy as he needs. “Your teacher doesn’t hate you.” Ivar says again, kissing his black hair. “She likes you a lot in fact.” Siggtrygg looks up at him, eye watery with unshed tears. “She does?” his question is so quiet, yet so filled with hope Ivar’s heart nearly breaks. “She does.” Ivar says. “She says you’re a delight to have in class.” Siggtrygg looks at him, disbelief evident. “Her words, not mine.” Ivar continues. “She wants to give you harder lessons. Teach you chemistry, or physics.”  
       As Siggtrygg’s face contorts into one of concentration as he dwells over his father’s words. “So she really doesn’t hate me?” Ivar pinches his son’s side, the boy squeals and begins to giggle. “She doesn’t hate you Boy.” He continues tickling Siggtrygg, who’s laughter is the sweetest sound that will ever grace his ears.


	2. Coffee and Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One winter's day, you and Ivar run into each other at the park.

            Ivar watched as Siggtrygg ran away from a little girl in pigtails. His smile and laugh made Ivar warm despite the relatively cold day. His legs ache, thanks to the chill, but it’s well worth it for the boy to get some fresh air and sunshine. Ivar will be damned if Siggtrygg grows up isolated and miserable like he did.

            Ivar is startled from is reverie when he is bowled over by a massive blur of brown fur. He doesn’t know if it’s the shock of hitting the ground so suddenly, or the cold puddle he’s knocked into, but it instantly puts him in a bad mood. “What the hell?” he hisses shoving at the thing on top of him. “Flower, Flower no!” he hears someone call. The bear, for it has to be a bear it’s so big, is yanked off him. He rights himself and sees that it isn’t a bear, just a big, brown dog. _Your_ big brown dog. You look properly horrified to see him lying there in the frost. His mood, however, is slightly improved at your hovering over him, looking worried. “Oh, Mr. Lothbrok!” you gasp, reaching down to help him to his feet. He swats you away. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Flower gets so excited when he’s in the park.”

            “Don’t you keep that damned thing on a leash?” he snaps. He watches you turn that beautiful shade of red. “Oh, oh, yes, but, he drags me sometimes.” As he pulls himself back onto the bench, his peaceful mood ruined, he searches for his boy. Siggtrygg is still playing tag, only now, two boys and a girl have joined the game. “Is there anything I can do Mr. Lothbrok?” you ask him, twisting the leash in your hands. “You can pay for my new suit.” He snarls. You take a step back, Flower going with you. “Um, that may take some time,” You tell him. He looks at you, seeing that you’re entirely serious. “Perhaps we can set up payments?” your brows are furrowed, and Ivar finds in him a desire to kiss the frown away.

            He sighs. “You can buy me coffee, and my boy some hot chocolate.” You brighten at this. “Oh, alright.” You take a seat next to him. Flower sits at your feet, happily sniffing and pawing at Ivar’s wet suit. Ivar gets a whiff of your perfume, feeling another stirring of desire. He pushes it deep into his gut. “Siggtrygg is doing well with the new curriculum.” You inform him. “Is he?”

“Yes”

            Perhaps you sense that he is in no mood to talk, because you don’t try to say anything else. You simply sit and coo at Flower from time to time. You’ve long since taken out a book and begun reading. Ivar looks over to it, spots the cover. He rolls his eyes. Your book is romance, made obvious by the man, who’s white shirt is open and billowing in the breeze, and the woman seemingly worshipping him at his feet. Great, he was hoping you had sense enough not to read such drivel. 

            He wondered idly how long you were going to sit and wait. Whenever Ivar took Siggtrygg to the park, he refused to tell his boy when it was time to go. He always let Siggtrygg decide when to leave. There had been entire days spent at the park, eating cheap hot dogs and throwing a ball back and forth. Sometimes, if it snowed, they even threw snowballs at each other.

            Neither of you waited too long, the moment Siggtrygg saw you, his face lit up. He abandons his game of tag and rushes towards you both. Ivar is intrigued with the reaction, as Siggtrygg has never looked so excited to see someone. He calls your name. You look up, a large smile on your face. “Hello Siggtrygg!” You call, opening your arms. He runs into them, hugging you tightly, breathless. Ivar feels a mixed pang of jealousy and something else, he isn’t sure what.

            “Come here Boy.” Ivar says, as you both disentangle yourself. Siggtrygg moves into the circle of his father’s arms. “Your lips are blue.” Ivar kisses his son’s sweaty temple, wrapping his large coat around him and bringing him into his warm arms. “Dad! Not in front of my teacher.” Siggtrygg groans. “What, can’t a father love his son? Why can’t he take care of his boy, hm?” Ivar asks, not letting go despite the halfhearted struggle. Siggtrygg gives another groan but gives up. He is shivering and does feel rather cold. “Is that your dog?” he asks you, wanting a topic change.

            “Ah yes, this is Flower.” You explain. As you scratch behind his ears, Flower’s tail begins to thump. “Can I pet him?” Ivar clears his throat. Siggtrygg gives him a sheepish smile. “Excuse me,” he says. “ _May_ I pet him?” You chuckle. “Of course you can.” Flower gives a particularly loud bark as Siggtrygg moves towards him. Ivar is reluctant to let his boy go to touch the beast but finds it in him to do so.

            Siggtrygg puts a tentative hand on Flower’s head. The beast stays perfectly still aside from the tail, going a mile a minute. “I think he likes you.” You say, leaning in conspiratorially. Siggtrygg giggles and begins to pet Flower with both hands, outright laughing as Flower gives him a kiss. “Your teacher has graciously offered to buy us hot drinks Boy,” Siggtrygg looks up at you, eyes hopeful. “Really?” You nod. “Yes.”

“What if I don’t want a hot drink?” He asks, trying to be difficult. Ivar gathers is crutches and stands, legs very stiff. “I don’t care if you want a hot drink, a cold drink, or water,” he says, “I want coffee. I’m cold, my legs ache, and I want to sit on something other than a damn park bench.” Siggtrygg giggles at his father’s crankiness.

            Not knowing where you’re headed off to, you stand, albeit awkwardly, and watch as Ivar picks a direction and begins to walk. You walk slowly beside him, Siggtrygg grabbing hold of your hand. Ivar notes you immediately close your gloved fingers around his boy’s and approves. Flower walks a little ahead, excitedly sniffing everything. Siggtrygg and you are both chatting happily about school, apparently, you had both found a new book to read together. Ivar feels another pang of jealousy. Usually, he and Siggtrygg read books together. The jealousy is soothed the moment he hears Siggtrygg say, “And father and I are reading the Fantastic Voyage by Isaac Asimov. Aren’t we father?” Ivar nods.

“Oh?” You asked. “I’ve read that one before. Make sure you tell me how you like it.”

“We’re reading it for the showing next month.” Ivar explains, wanting to be a part of the conversation. “Down at the movies. You should come.” Ivar curses himself for inviting you. He hopes you understand it’s an entirely empty gesture. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” You say. “No,” Siggtrygg says. “You should really come! Father will get us all good seats. Won’t you father? And he’ll buy snacks.” You look at Ivar and he shrugs. He didn’t particularly care for the cinema, too dark with too many people. Too many ways to get into trouble. He was doing it for his son mainly, but if Siggtrygg wanted you to go, he wasn’t going to stop you. “How about this? I will think on it for a week, and tell you if I’ll go or not?” Siggtrygg seems to accept this answer and continues talking about something else. The conversation stops when Ivar slows at the entrance of his favorite café.

*

            When you decided to go for a walk in the park with Flower that morning, you did not expect to be meeting Ivar Lothbrok. Nor did you expect to be sitting so close to him in a small café, eating your favorite pastry. Siggtrygg sat quietly eating spoonful’s of the whipped cream that sat on top of his hot chocolate and Ivar drank his coffee, black but with several packets of sugar. You couldn’t understand how he could drink the stuff.

            If he felt awkward, he didn’t show it, but boy did you sure feel strange. Your affection for him hadn’t grown any, but it hadn’t abated either. Your heart was doing wild somersaults in your chest. You nearly jumped from your skin every time his leg brushed yours. How had you gotten so close to begin with? “Ah!” You look up from your food to see Siggtrygg has gotten wipped cream on the table. “’Scuse me.” He mutters sliding from the chair to get napkins. You seize your opportunity.

“Tell me the truth, do you want me going to the movies with you?” Ivar freezes, cup halfway to his mouth. He looks at you, beautiful baby blues so intense it made your knees utterly weak. “What?”

“I know an empty gesture when I hear one,” You tell him. He puts his cup down, ears going red. Just as you thought. “It’s alright if you don’t want me to go. I won’t be offended.”

“It isn’t about me.” He says quickly. “It’s about Siggtrygg. He wants you to go, so you should go.” You smile at him, heart warmed by his love for his son. Perhaps it was the casual setting, perhaps it wasn’t, you’d never know. You placed your hand on top of his, marveling at how cold it was. His eyes find yours, somehow less intense, but no less beautiful, his mouth hangs open slightly. Something flashes behind his eyes, but you ignore it. “Siggtrygg is so lucky to have you.” You tell him. His face goes red and he stutters out a thank you, quickly looking back at his coffee. He doesn’t move his hand, instead, he grips it tighter. You give your own squeeze until Siggtrygg comes back.

            The boy looks between you too, frowning. “What did I miss?”


	3. Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You take up Siggtrygg's offer to go to the movies.

            Siggtrygg is helping Ivar with his tie. His tongue is sticking out in concentration, brow furrowed. It’s only the movies, but of course, it’s with Siggtrygg’s favorite teacher, so it must be special. “And you won’t be mean to her right?” Siggtrygg asks. Ivar purses his lips. “I’ll be on my best behavior.” He promises. He understands it a little, maybe if they do this right, his teacher would continue to show interest in Siggtrygg outside of school. Ivar might have some outside influence other than his family.

            Ivar cared for his family, but for all their virtues, they had nasty vices. He didn’t want Siggtrygg pulled into that life. He’d fight to his last breath to avoid that from happening. While he’d rather Siggtrygg make friends his own age, he figured you could give Siggtrygg lessons in making friends Ivar couldn’t.

            The boy finishes with his tie and steps back. “And don’t be stingy with your money either,” Siggtrygg admonishes him. Ivar rolls his eyes. “Boy, enough. I will treat your teacher with the utmost respect, I promise.” Siggtrygg looks at Ivar, nameless fear in his blue eyes. Ivar’s face softens and he brings his son into his arms. “I promise I won’t scare her away.” Siggtrygg returns the hug. “Not until the end of the year at least.” The boy mumbles Ivar pulls back. “What happens at the end of the year?”

“I move up a grade, then I won’t see her anymore.” Siggtrygg shrugs. “But at least we’ll have the movies, right?” Ivar smiles, “At least we’ll have the movies.”

*

            You stand in front of the cinema, cursing your agreement to this. Since you held his hand in the coffee shop, your feelings for Ivar Lothbrok had grown. It was only slightly, but damnit, it was something. You soothed yourself in the knowledge that this was the last time you’d see him. What hurt you more was the thought that in a few months’ time you wouldn’t see Siggtrygg anymore. Perhaps you would pass each other in the halls, but the time of reading books and teaching him math and science were now over. Still, it was a joy to have the boy in class, and you were eager to see him grow and accomplish great things.  

            You busied yourself reading over the movie advertisements. Tonight was particularly dead, as the new rotation hadn’t come out yet,  the only thing worth showing was Fantastic Voyage. You didn’t mind, getting a movie theater to yourself was preferable in your opinion.

            You were engrossed in trying to figure out a misty image in a horror ad when you heard your name being called. You turned to see Siggtrygg grinning wildly at you. Ivar looked rather dour, but then, he always looked dour. “You’re here!” Siggtrygg says, giving you his characteristic hug. “Of course I am.” You tell him, returning the hug. You nod to Ivar, holding out you hand. “Mr. Lothbrok.” You say. He shakes it, greeting you rather coolly. You don’t think anything of it as Siggtrygg drags you towards the ticket kiosk.

            “It’s alright, I already bought them.” You say, holding up three tickets. “Aw!” Siggtrygg says, “Father was supposed to buy the tickets.” You smile at him. “He can buy the snacks.” You say, smoothing back Siggtrygg’s hair. He huffs, clearly displeased with you. “Fine.” He mutters, rushing into the cinema. You stay back with Ivar. “I have the picture you wanted.”

“What?”

“The picture Siggtrygg made, the one I wouldn’t let you have. I have it in my car. Remind me at the end of the night, I’ll give it to you.” He gives you a small smile. “Thank you.” He mutters. You both walk up behind Siggtrygg. “Well, Boy?” Ivar asks. “Give me a minute, I’m still deciding.” You don’t miss the gentle smile on Ivar’s face.

            You like that the rumors you heard about Ivar were so far false. Perhaps it was only because you were with Siggtrygg, and Ivar had endless amounts of patience for him, but you figured he was only putting on a front. Like the front he’s putting on right now, being tolerable of you. You worry your lip, reminding yourself this was the last night you’d have to deal with these feelings. Then it was back to fawning over the hot teacher in class B1.

            Siggtrygg, after what seems like ages, finally makes his choice. He and Ivar are to share a coke and a box of candy. “I don’t want you bouncing off the walls later tonight. We have breakfast with your grandparents in the morning.” Ivar chided as Siggtrygg tried to convince him to get separate sodas for the both of them. You got a box of your favorite candy, feeling awkwardly pressured into it by their stares.

            Siggtrygg rushes you both into the theater, excitedly bounding on the balls of his feet. When you get inside, you’re delighted to see that you do, in fact, have it all to yourself. This excites Siggtrygg as he settles in the centermost seat. You and Ivar settle on either side of him. “This is like the time we saw The Blob, isn’t it father?” Siggtrygg says. “It is.” Ivar agrees. You smile gently at him. “The Blob?” You ask. Siggtrygg nods, then launches into an explanation about the movie.

*

            Unabashedly, Ivar watches you with his son. Or at least, that’s his excuse, but his son has nothing to do with it. You seem to have gotten so much more beautiful since he last saw you at the coffee shop. The memory of your hand atop his still lingered, he still thought about it. Your hand had been small, warm, and soft. He wanted so much to feel it again.

            It wouldn’t happen. It would never happen. The only people in the world that would ever love him are his son and his mother. Ubbe politely tolerated him, but nothing more. He was too vicious to be loved. Too broken. He reminded himself to be thankful he had Siggtrygg and Aslaug. He had no right to ask for more.

            You both quieted as the movie started. Ivar sat in his chair, torturing himself with thoughts of you. They were simple in design, a hug, a hand pat, all very innocent and friendly. He wouldn’t allow himself thoughts of kissing you or holding you. Wouldn’t allow dream-you to play in the park with Siggtrygg, who in this day dream, called you mother.

            By the time the movie ended, he was in a rather sour mood, and wanted to go home. The sound of Siggtrygg’s excited chatter soothed him somewhat, but your wonderful presence served to remind him of his secret wishes, so the mood wouldn’t fade completely. Outside the theater, they wait for you as you used the ladies room. Siggtrygg tugged on Ivar’s shirtsleeve. “Father, may we invite her to dinner?” Siggtrygg asks. Ivar is careful to keep the frown from his face. “Of course Boy.” He ruffles Siggtrygg’s hair, heart melting at the incredibly large smile that breaks his son’s face.

            “Do you think if mother loved me, she would be like her?” Ivar’s anger boils in his belly at the mention of Siggtrygg’s mother. “Look at me,” Ivar says, pulling his son’s face in between his thumb and forefinger. “Your mother didn’t leave because of you. She left because of me.” Siggtrygg nods, eyes filling with unshed tears. Ivar pulls him close, kissing his hair. He wants to cry himself. If it weren’t for him. Siggtrygg would have a mother, a loving one at that. If only it weren’t for him.

            Walking from the bathroom, he sees you stop, a frown on your face. He catches your eye, which immediately fills with tender emotion, but you quickly look away, wanting to give them some sort of privacy. He appreciates it. Ivar pulls away from Siggtrygg. “Buck up.” He says, kissing his boys’ forehead once more. “We have dinner with your teacher, do we not?” Siggtrygg pulls himself up to his full height, straightens his shirt and smiles at his father. “Let’s go knock her dead.” Ivar misses the wicked glint in Siggtrygg’s eye.  


	4. Dinner

            As you eat your pizza, you watched Siggtrygg and Ivar play. They had chosen to eat at a cheap arcade, apparently Siggtrygg’s favorite. For the past thirty minutes, Siggtryg had been switching back and forth between you and his father to play the games. This was the most fun you’d had in a long while. Instead of tight lipped winces, Ivar had begun to give actual smiles. He looked relaxed, at ease. Siggtrygg seemed thrilled to be in the arcade. You’d even heard their full belly laughter. Suffice it to say, all three of you were having a wonderful time.

            Ivar ruffles his son as the game ends. Siggtrygg prances off to play a game by himself, while Ivar comes to sit next to you. You both are smiling, feeling serene. You push the platter of pizza towards him and he takes a slice. “I don’t think I thanked you for coming out.” Ivar says. “You don’t have to, I was happy to come.” Ivar gives you a small smile. You eat Pizza in silence, watching Siggtrygg. “you mean a lot to my boy.” You don’t bother keeping the gentle smile from breaking out. “Siggtrygg is a special boy.” You tell him. “Bright and delightful, I’ll miss having him in class.”

            “He’ll miss being in your class.” Ivar says. Your smile turns into a frown; you didn’t want to think about it. Not seeing Ivar again, you could deal with. But having your relationship with Siggtrygg deteriorate left you heartbroken. “Which is why I’d like to hire you as a private tutor.”

            Your mind struggles to comprehend what he’s asking you. “Pardon?”

“Private tutor?” Ivar repeated. “It would be on the weekends, of course. I know you have classes to teach. I’d pay you handsomely. Besides, you’ve proven yourself a capable teacher. Not like the rest of the morons at that damnable boarding school.”

“I don’t think they’re morons per se,” you mutter in defense of your colleagues. Ivar gives you a look, which has you red, avoiding his gaze. “Would you mind? I haven’t talked to Siggtrygg about it, so he won’t be disappointed if you don’t take the offer.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t mind at all.” In reality, you were thrilled. You’d get to see Siggtrygg, every weekend, and continue your lessons. It was a much preferable solution to near unbearable heartbreak.

            Ivar gives you a gentle smile, he opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s interrupted. “Ivar?” You watch his body language tense immediately. “Miranda.” He says tersely. The woman he’s looking is model level beautiful. Blond hair, blue eyes, she looks like a Valkyrie you see in famous pictures. Suddenly, you feel very inadequate next to her. “What are you doing here?” She asks. “I’m spending time with _my son_.” The woman looks over to you. “It looks like you’re on a date.” She says. You blush very hard looking to your pizza. You want so much for the ground to swallow you up.

            It was the look in her eye that did it. Like you weren’t good enough to be seen in public with Ivar. Which ok, you came from humble beginnings, and you knew the Lothbroks were about pedigree, but damn, she didn’t have to make it so obvious. “It’s none of your business, is it?” Ivar snarls.

“Is your son around?” she asks, looking about. “He is, why don’t you call him by name? Hm?” you frown, Ivar’s tone is positively vehement. What had this woman done to him? She turns a pretty shade of red. She straightens and looks him in the eye. “There’s no need to be hostile.”

“You don’t even know his name, do you?” Ivar sneers. “Couldn’t leave the hospital fast enough to dump him on my door.”

“Ivar, that’s not-”

“Just leave woman. Stop feigning love for my boy.” Miranda holds his gaze for a few more moments. She gives a small sound in the back of her throat but turns to leave. Ivar glares at her as she goes. You notice the white knuckled grip he has on a napkin. “It’s ok Mr. Lothbrok.” You say, grabbing his hand gently. His furious blue eyes snap to yours. Immediately, he lets go of the napkin and grasps your hand gently in his. Like before, his hand is very cold. His gaze softens. “That was Miranda,” he explains. “Siggtrygg’s mother.”

“I gathered.” Ivar moves his thumb over the back of your hand. “She left us three days after Siggtrygg was born. Sleeping with her was a mistake, we never loved each other-” You squeeze his hand. “Ivar,” you whisper, the name feeling strange in your mouth. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You give him a smile. He squeezes your hand, a broken look settles over his beautiful face. Your heart goes out to him. “She said she couldn’t be with a cripple, no matter how rich he was. She said that even giving birth to Siggtrygg was an embarrassment. She called my son an embarrassment.” Ivar scoffs. “Well, she’s an awful bitch.” You tell him honestly.

*

            Ivar is shocked at your indignity. “Pardon?” he repeats your word from earlier. “I said she’s an awful bitch.” You repeat. Ivar smiles, elation running through him that you’ve taken his side. “What?” You say touchily. “You don’t just walk out on your son because you can’t stand the father. It isn’t right. Besides, you’re a nice man, any woman would be lucky to have you.” Ivar stares at you.

            You let go of his hand, he immediately wants to take it back, but doesn’t move. He tries for a joke. “Lucky eh? Even you?” He watches as your face flushes completely, turning fire engine red. You mumble something he doesn’t quit catch. “What was that?” He asks, leaning forward. “I said especially me.” You avoid his gaze, but turn your head so your mouth is facing him. Ivar is going to respond, but Siggtrygg plops into the chair beside him. He his huffing and sweaty. He leans into his father’s arm and Ivar places a kiss to damp hair. “Father, playing Dance Dance Revolution in nice clothes is not a good idea.” You and Ivar chuckle.

            As Siggtrygg eats his pizza, Ivar tries to catch your eye. He desperately wants you to know how happy you’ve just made him. He allowed a little hope to enter his heart. He thought about what he could do to let you know he was interested. Women were not his area of expertise. Besides, for the past ten years, his son had been his only focus. Asking for some time alone with you seemed a daunting task. He was sure he could use Siggtrygg as an excuse to see you, but that would only last for so long. Besides, what if you wanted to kiss him goodnight? He couldn’t kiss his son’s teacher in front of him.

            He was pulled from his thoughts as Siggtrygg let out a large yawn. “Tired boy?” Siggtrygg nods. “We’ll get going then.” Ivar stands, his son and you follow suit.

            The walk back to the car is somber. Siggtrygg too tired to chat, you too nervous to say anything else, Ivar trying to come up with a way to ask you to dinner. You make it all the way to the limo in silence. “Have a good night’s sleep Siggtrygg,” you tell him, giving him a hug good bye. Siggtrygg mumbles the same sentiment to you and crawls into the vehicle. Ivar turns to you, before he can thank you for the night, having come up empty as to how to ask you on a date, you make a small sound in the back of your throat. “Siggtrygg’s picture! Come on, my car isn’t far from here.” He follows you.

            It’s two spaces over. A few years old, but he tells you take care of it as best you. You open the back door and take the picture out. It’s beautifully framed. “Someone actually tried to buy it,” you say chuckling. “I just managed to beat them off with a stick. I tell you, Siggtrygg is going places.” Ivar takes the picture from you, glowing from the praise of his son. “Have dinner with me,” he suddenly blurts, no longer able to contain the anxiety. He can see from the crappy halogen light above, you turn yet another brilliant shade of red. “Tomorrow night,” he continues, hoping your earlier sentiment wasn’t as empty as his invite to the movies tonight.

            “I c-can’t,” You stutter. Ivar grinds his teeth, of course you can’t. Who would want to be seen the reject Lothbrok? “But I’m free next weekend, if you really want to have dinner.” He notes the trace of hope in your voice. You wanted this too. He leans in, heart pounding in his chest. Your lips are incredibly soft as he kisses you, its chaste, sweet, and altogether too short. When he pulls back, he smiled at the dreamy look passing over your face. “I’ll see you next weekend.”


	5. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Ivar go on that date, and meet someone unexpected.

There is one word to describe how you feel. Fucking terrified. Ok, that’s two words, but that’s beside the point. You fiddle with your hair nervous for tonight. “Stop it!” Your friend slaps your hand away from the clip. “You look great.”

“I don’t feel great.” You say, feeling queasy. Your friend giggles as she smooths imaginary wrinkles on your dress. “I can’t believe you have a date with a Lothbrok.” She says, looking you over. You shake your head. You can’t believe it either.

            When you got home the night of the movies, you had flopped onto your couch and stared a head of you for what seemed like forever. You had been mortified at your slip at first. You had been convinced Ivar thought you a weirdo, and couldn’t come up with a single thing to say that would make the situation better. The walk to your car was absolutely agonizing. It had turned out much better than you anticipated.

The memory of Ivar’s lips pressed against yours still lingered. Of course, he’d tasted of cheap cheese pizza and coke, but it was, without a doubt, the best kiss you ever had. You had called your best friend, too excited not to share it with someone. Despite the late hour, she listened to everything you had to tell her.

“Do you think Siggtrygg will be ok with it?” you ask suddenly, thinking of the boy that had brought you and Ivar together. Your friend stares at you. “I don’t see why not,” she mutters. “It’s not like you’d get in the way of them.” She pauses, looking at you critically. “Or like you’re a gold digger.” She mutters suspiciously. “Seriously?” you swat at her as she laughs. She takes a step back, proud of her work. “You look damned fine.” You give her a nervous smile.

            A knock on your door stops your preening. You look at the clock near your bedside table. Right on time, why were you not surprised. You chuckle as your friend rushes about the place getting her things. “You will call me when you get back,” she orders you. “You will spare not detail. I want to know everything.” She squeals, giving you a hug. You return it.

            Both of you make your way to the front door. She opens it wide. Ivar is standing there, wide eyed, not expecting her. “Sorry,” she says, walking past him, giggling. “I over stayed my welcome.” Ivar turns to you, and you give him an apologetic smile. Behind him, your friend makes approval motions with her hands, mouthing ‘so hot’ as she gets in her car. You ignore her, turning back to Ivar. “Hello!” You don’t trust yourself to say anything other than that. “You look stunning.” He says. You giggle. “Thank you. You look handsome yourself.” He gives you that gentle smile that makes your knees weak.

            He does indeed, look very good. His suit is black, his shoes are shiny. His black hair is slicked back into perfection, and you can smell his cologne. It’s spicy, but doesn’t assault your nose like some scents, it’s gentle, caresses you almost. You snap out of your day dream and suddenly remember your manners. “Come in!” You say, stepping aside. He does so, looking over things critically.

            You’re proud of your apartment. You keep things very tidy, but it’s obvious you deal with children. There are pictures on the wall from past students, little clay figures, even a ceramic bowl you keep for keys and what not. “Have a seat,” You tell him. “Do you want anything to drink? I don’t have any coffee, but I have…” you pause. “Water,” Ivar chuckles at you, sitting down. “Aren’t we supposed to have drinks after dinner?” You shrug. “I don’t know, I’m not really good at dating.” You admit. He grabs your hand. “Neither am I. I’m sure tonight will go fine.” You nod. “I’m sure it will.” You both search each other’s face for something, reassurance maybe?

            Ivar shakes his head. “Here,” He hands out a box to you. “Siggtrygg insisted on this instead of flowers.” You smile at the thought of Siggtrygg helping him get ready. The image of his blue eyes, so much like his father’s, stuck in concentration was clear and adorable in his head. “He was right.” You tell him. “I do prefer chocolate over flowers.” You can tell it’s an expensive box. Not by looks or feel or anything, but because you passed the same chocolate place nearly every weekend on your walk to the park. You would stare longingly into the window for a few moments, wishing you could justify blowing money on such a frivolous thing. You put it on the end table, and Ivar stands up. “Are you ready?” He asks, looking as nervous as you felt. “I made reservations.”

            “Please,” you say, motioning for him to go first. You take your pocket book and your keys and follow him out of your home. He waits patiently as you lock the door. When you get to his car, you’re surprised to see it isn’t a limo. It is nice, however.

Even though he admitted he hadn’t much luck with women, he at least knows how to treat a lady. He opens your door for you and shuts it gently. As you buckle up, you notice his side of the car. It’s obviously been modified for him, no gas or break peddles, and a slot, you assumed for his crutches near the door. The steering wheel as more buttons than you’d ever seen.

            You didn’t comment on it as he slipped into the driver’s seat. “Do you like French food?” he asks. “Oh, I’m neither here nor there on it.” You tell him honestly. “I haven’t had enough to make up my mind I suppose.” He nods, pulling onto your street. You chat idly on the way to dinner, mostly about Siggtrygg. Ivar informs you Siggtrygg is excited to have you for a private tutor. “He already has a room set up for you two.” You chuckle. Of course he does.

            It doesn’t take you long to get to the restaurant, mainly because Ivar drives like a maniac. Turning a particularly hard corner, you grab his arm and the door, a little scared. He smiles at you. “Don’t worry,” he says, taking your hand in his. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“You promise?” You ask him. For the second time tonight, your knees go weak. It was that damned smile, cocky, smooth. He takes your hand in one easy gesture and kisses the back of it. He promised.

            He screeches to a halt in front of the building. You’re giggling now, as his driving has only gotten crazier since you grabbed him. He laughs with you. “Shall we?” He asks, unbuckling. You think you like confident Ivar as much as you like dad Ivar.

*

            For once in his life, Ivar Lothbrok is having a fun time with a woman. He thought tonight would be awkward and stuttering, with minimal conversation. It was the opposite. You were perfectly charming, throwing easy smiles at him, giggling at his sarcasm. The conversation flowed easily. Not just about Siggtrygg, but about anything and everything. Books, television, history, art. There was nothing you weren’t at least somewhat knowledgeable about.

            The best part was, you weren’t insufferable about any of it. You listened to him, took the time to think over his opinion, and either you agreed or you argued with him. You often chose the latter of the two. It was refreshing, not at all like the other dates Ubbe and Hvitserk tried to set him up with.

            Time passed between you two quickly. What was hours seemed like minutes. Just as you were moving on to desert, a familiar voice dashed all his hopes against the rocks. “Ivar?” he groaned and looked over his shoulder. “Sigurd.” Ivar growled. He gave his brother his best glare, one that told him not to do whatever it was he was planning on doing. Sigurd, as usual, didn’t listen to him. “What are you doing here?” Sigurd asks, malice easily detectable in his eyes. “I’m on a date.” Ivar motions to you. You give Sigurd a quick smile.

            Sigurd scoffs. “Not with her,” he says. “She’s entirely too pretty.” Ivar feels a sense of relief as you don’t blush, but give him a tight-lipped smile. You don’t bother accepting his compliment. “I’m Sigurd Lothbrok,” he says, stretching out his hand. You take it stiffly and introduce yourself. “It’s funny really, I’m on a date too.” He turns. “Miranda, come see who it is.” Ivar turns to you, fearing the worst, but can’t help the delight that spread through him. The look of pure anger on your face is delicious. By the time Miranda joins you all, it’s smoothed into a mask of in difference. “Oh, hello Ivar,” Miranda says. “Mind if we join you?” Ivar has to wonder if it’s a planned attack. But decided Sigurd isn’t that clever.

“Yes,” you say, getting to the point quicker than Ivar. “I do mind.”

“I don’t remember asking you.” Miranda sneers. You simply shrug. “I don’t remember allowing you to interrupt my evening, twice.” The glare you send her way is positively deadly. “You heard my date,” Ivar says smiling. “We’re busy.” Sigurd gives Ivar a glare, you a charming smile, and turns to leave with Miranda without another word. Neither of you stop glaring at them as they retreat.

            When they take their seats, you turn to him. “I’m sorry,” You tell him. He tries to work out what you’re sorry for, but finds he doesn’t care. “I didn’t mean to be so-” he cuts you off with another kiss to your hand. You bite you lip and smile. “It was fine.” He tells you, wanting nothing more than to crash his mouth into yours to let you know how fine it was.

*

            You’re standing at your front door, now, unlocking it. Despite the hiccup with Miranda and Sigurd, your evening had gone perfectly. There was wine, good food, better company. You turn to him, not bothering to hide your smile this time. “I really enjoyed tonight.” You tell him. “When can I see you again?” He asks, a little breathless. Your smile widens, loving his directness. “Next weekend I suppose, I’ll be teaching Siggtrygg, remember?” He huffs, giving you a mock glare. “I meant when can we go on another date?”

“Next weekend I suppose,” you repeat coyly. “I’m free after I’m done teaching Siggtrygg.” Ivar chuckles. This time, you find it in yourself to take initiative and lean in for a kiss. You stop, in case he wants to reject it, but he doesn’t even hesitate. His lips are on yours in an instant. This wasn’t like the movie kiss, oh no, this was so much better.

            His lips were soft, tasting of the wine he’d had with dinner. He was eager, pressing against you as much as he could without losing balance. You continued to be bold and run your tongue across his bottom lip. You feel him jump with the surprise. You get ready to pull back, but Ivar as other plans. You hear the clatter of a crutch as he brings his hand to curl itself in your hair. He opens for you and you both begin to explore each other’s mouth.

            By the time you two pull back, you’re both gasping for air. “That was,” you say. “Wow,” he finishes. You both laugh. You bend down to pick up his crutch. He mutters a ‘thank you’ as he takes it from you. “I look forward to next weekend.” You tell him. He gives you another gentle kiss. “So do I.”


	6. Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Siggtrygg make cookies together.

            It had begun with a simple question. Do mother’s really bake cookies with their children? Siggtrygg had delivered it such nonchalance you had thought it was a rhetorical. “Well?” He asked. You looked at him, pursing your lips. “Some do, yes.”

“Did you?”

“No. My mother hates baking.” You told him honestly. “Oh.” Siggtrygg looks back at his book. You were going over the history of Egypt now. You worried your lip, hoping your intuition was right as you ask him gently, “Siggtrygg, would you like to make some cookies? We’d have to go get the things for it.” His head immediately snaps up to look at you, wonder filling his eyes. “Only if you want to.” He says cautiously. You smile at him. “I can’t think of another person I’d love to make cookies with more.”

            He leaps from his chair. “I’ll go get some shoes on.” He nearly bowls Ivar over, calling out a ‘sorry father’ in his rush to get to his room. Ivar looks at you, amused but confused. “We’re going to bake cookies.” You inform him. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing. You walk up to him to give him a kiss. As usual, it thrills you to your very bones as he returns it. You’ve been dating for a few months now. School was over, and you had the summer off. You spent as many days together as you could.

            Nothing of note has really happened between you two. Just lazy days in the park, watching Siggtrygg play, movie nights and dinners. It was all so easy, so natural, neither of you felt the need to move beyond what you had. Your philosophy was, if it happened, it happened.

            Siggtrygg came barreling back towards you, breathless. “Ready!” he pants. “You can take the limo.” Ivar says. “I have my car.” You tell him, seeing no reason to take the limo. “Or you can take your car.” He agrees, kissing you on the cheek this time, mindful of Siggtrygg. You both miss the boy’s beaming face.

*

            In the grocery store, Siggtrygg ran around, looking at everything. “What sort of cookies are when going to make?” He asks picking up a box of cereal and putting it into the basket. “I was thinking chocolate chip.” You tell him. “Like the ones you sometimes brought to class?” You nod. “Did you really make those cookies all on your own?” He’s further down the isle now, looking at another cereal. He leaves that one on the shelf. “I did.”

“How come?”

“Because I like baking.” You tell him honestly. “And I’m not going to eat all those cookies by myself. I’d get sick.” He giggles, grabbing your hand.

            You walk through the aisles, getting everything you needed. “Aunt Margarethe says she’s going to bake all the cookies she can with her baby.” Siggtrygg tells you. “She said she’s going to do a bunch of other things too. Do you think I’ll ever get the chance to have a mother, and do things with her?” He looks at you. You’re careful to keep the frown from your face. “Of course,” You say, running your fingers through his hair. He squeezes you hand tighter. You recognize the agony in his blue eyes. You take him to an out of the way spot and kneel to look at him. Taking his arms in your hands, you rub them comfortingly. “Siggtrygg, would you like to talk about it?” You ask him softly.

            He shifts from foot to foot for a few moments, worrying his lips. “I want you to be my mother.” He whispers. You smile gently at him. “But, I don’t want to get my hopes up, in case you and father don’t work out.” You bring him into a hug. He returns it as tight as he can. When you’re done, you pull his face in your hands. “If you want me to be, I’ll be your mother. Even if your father and I separate. Ok?”

“Promise?” Siggtrygg asks, eyes filling with tears. “I promise,” you say, kissing his forehead. “You won’t tell father, will you?” He asks. You shake your head. “Not a word.”

*

            Ivar will only admit to himself that he’s fallen completely in love with you. He won’t admit it to Siggtrygg, he won’t admit it to you, he won’t admit it to his mother or brother. He can’t. Because if he does, it’s real, and that means losing you is real. He can’t do that to himself, he can’t do that to his boy.

            He wonders if you realize how much Siggtrygg loves you too. He wonders…well, he wonders a lot of things. What having a child with you would be like mainly. Would they look like you? Look like him? Would Siggtrygg even want a little brother or sister? He decides, while watching you teach Siggtrygg how to break an egg properly, that he’d like to have a little girl. He wanted that little girl to look exactly like you. He wanted her in pigtails, and dresses with flowers. He wanted Siggtrygg to push her on swings.

            His dreams are abruptly halted when he hears, “I think father should be helping us.” He looks at Siggtrygg, who is smiling devilishly. Your smile mirrors Siggtrygg’s. Ivar gets up from his seat and walks into the kitchen. “What am I doing?” He asks. You push a bowl towards him. “you get to measure the flour.” You say. Ivar nods and gets to work.

            As he helps, he goes back to wondering. This time it’s just a single thought. _Is this what it’s like to be a part of a loving family?_


	7. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You tell Ivar a secret.

            Ivar could not understand how he’d gone his entire life without discovering sweat pants. You had been going on about how Sundays were lazy days, especially made for lying on the couch, and drinking wine. You had insisted he join you, but when he told you he had no sweatpants to speak of, you yanked out a pair so pink it hurt to look at. You explained how you had bought it three sizes too big for you. Then, taking one look at his face, you turned red and muttered ‘never mind’. But he was curious, and it wasn’t like he was going to be seen by anyone.

            So, he slipped them on his legs, found them very comfortable, and vowed the get a pair of his own. Now, he was cuddled up with you, on your couch, flicking through television channels he never knew existed. A large bottle of wine and two wine glasses were on the small coffee table situated in front of the couch, they sat empty. Ivar, having been a wine drinker for most his life, was only a tad bit tipsy, you, on the other hand, you had been completely drunk by your second glass.

            He liked you drunk. You were more affectionate towards him. Your kisses came freely now, complete with cute giggle. You couldn’t stop touching him, smiling at him. He loved every moment of it. After wanting a woman in his life so badly, after being so, so lonely, despite Siggtrygg, it was nice to have you paw at him. Even if you were drunk.

He figured, maybe if you were more affectionate towards him, you’d be more open with him too. He decided nothing ventured nothing gained. “Why aren’t you like this when you’re sober?” He asks. “Hm?” You pick your head up and rest your chin on his bare chest. “All, cuddly and…” He’s at a loss of words to describe it. You frown in concentration, puffing your cheeks out. “I don’t want to upset you.” You say. “Why would that upset me?” you shrug and put your head back down.

“I’m no good with people,” you explain. “I can’t pick up social clues, so I never know how to act. I leave it to the person I’m with to dictate how much affection to give.” Ivar grunted that made sense. Your head whips to him. “Oh shit! You don’t think I don’t like you, do you?”

“No, I know you like me.” You sit up and straddle him, taking his face in his hands. “Good,” You say, smushing his cheeks. He grabs your wrists with both hands, trying not to laugh at you. “because the only,” you hiccup, and shake your head. “The only boy I like more than you is Siggtrygg.”

            It warms Ivar to hear you say, even if you are drunk. You hiccup again. “No, no, that’s wrong,” you frown in concentration again. “I like Siggtrygg differently,” you try again. You shake your head. “But I like him more differently than you.”

“Hush,” he says. “I understand what you mean.” You nod, looking placated. Suddenly, you turn very serious. “What?” The look makes him uncomfortable. You never looked so serious in your entire life.

“I like you.” You tell him. Ivar can’t keep help but chuckle this time. “I like you too.” He says. “I like your blue eyes,” you continue, leaning in. “And I like your kisses.” You kiss him gently. “And, and I like,” You sigh pulling back. Ivar is struck by how much love is in your gaze. You stop trying to smush his face, instead, settle for running your hands through your hair. “I like the way you make me feel. Like I’m somebody, like I’m part of something. I like the way my heart pounds in my chest when you look at me. I like the way my knees go weak when you’re being charming.” With each confession, Ivar’s throat constricts a little more.

            There’s complete and open honesty on your face. He wants to hear more, needs to hear more, but he just doesn’t know how to ask it. “And I love the way your face lights up when you’re with Siggtrygg. And I love that you love Siggtrygg so much. And I love you.” His heart stops for a few moments. “What?” He says, unsure he heard you. “I love you.” You repeat again. You lean down towards him, giving him a kiss. He’s to stunned. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” each repeat is followed with a kiss to his lips. Eventually, you settle back down in his chest.

            “I love Siggtrygg too.” You mutter finally, before you begin to snore. Ivar lays there, staring at the ceiling. He’s wondering about how much stock he can put in drunk love confessions. Would you remember it all when you woke up? If you did, would you say it to him all again when you’re sober? Next time when you had the strength to tell him you loved him, would he have the strength to say it too?


	8. Confession pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've confessed your love to Ivar, how does the aftermath turn out?

            Somehow, you’re blessed not to have a wicked headache when you wake up again. Your mouth is dry though. You smack your lips together, trying to generate some saliva. You groan and sit up from your position. Scrubbing at your eyes, you jump when you feel a hand on your back. You whip around to see Ivar staring at you concerned. Horror fills you as you remember your confession. “Are you alright?” He asks you, sitting up. You nod slowly. There was a small chance he’d let it go, or maybe he was so drunk he doesn’t remember.

            You turn from him, swinging your legs out of your bed. When had you gotten there? You know with Ivar’s legs he couldn’t have carried you, had he maneuvered you when you were half asleep? Your horror deepens, had you said anything more in your sleep? You groan, putting your head in your hands. Unaware Ivar is watching you with utmost trepidation. He wants to confront you, but doesn’t know if this is the best time. “I’ll get you some water.” He says, grabbing his crutches.

            You listen to him put around your apartment, wondering how you can save this. You were sure that any sort of love confession would scare Ivar off. The rational part of your brain told you that if it scared him, he’d be out the door already. The louder, irrational part told you that he was being decent before he broke up with you. Because that’s what always happened when you confessed your love. Which, in turn, was why you had waited so long in the first place.

            You hear him come back into the bedroom. He sits next to you, handing you a water bottle. You take it from him with a quiet ‘thanks’. You take a few sips from it, wondering when the ball will drop. “Do you,” Ivar begins, “Do you remember what you said earlier today?” You squeeze your eyes shut. Damn, he wanted to talk about it.

            “I’m sorry,” You say. Getting off the bed in a hurry, you miss the look of hurt and rejection on his face. “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I fall in love so easily.” You start pacing back and forth. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable Ivar.” You turn to him, steeling yourself for heartbreak. “If you can’t move past it, I understand.” You hate how watery your voice is, but you can’t help it. The heartbreak is nearly too much for you. You’re tired of putting yourself in these situations. But you couldn’t help loving who you loved.

            A gentle smile breaks over Ivar’s face as he reaches for your hand. You give it to him, closing your eyes, trying to hold tears back. Ivar kisses your knuckles. “You don’t care that I’m cripple?” He asks. You sniff, opening your eyes. “Why would I care that you’re a cripple?” You ask. “There are certain things I can’t do,” he tells you. He looks at your hands, placing another kiss on the knuckles. “I can never carry you in my arms. I can never run to your rescue. There are times when my legs hurt so bad I can’t get up from the bed for days. You’d have to take care of me, and I wouldn’t be able to return the favor.” He leans into your belly, not wanting to look at you any longer. He’s ashamed you realize. “Miranda didn’t want Siggtrygg because of me, she didn’t want me because of my legs.”

            You bring your free hand to the back of his head, holding him gently. “Ivar,” You whisper. “I’m not Miranda.” You curse the women to spend all eternity for hurting the two men you loved most in the world. “I love you despite your legs. You’re a wonderful man, and a wonderful father.” He picks up his head to look at you. “I don’t need you to pick me up, or come to my rescue. And you take care of me just fine.” You shrug. “I love you for you.”

“I love you too.” He says. You give him a gentle smile. “Ivar, you don’t have to lie to me just to make me feel better.” You promise. “If you don’t feel the same way,”

“I love that you decorate your house with pictures that your student draw. I love that you have a stupid dog big enough to be mistaken for a bear. I love that you’re a complete romantic. And I love that you love Siggtrygg too.” Your eyes well with tears, happy ones this time. You let them fall. “Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

“No one’s ever told me they loved me before.” You admit. Ivar wipes the tears that are rolling down your cheeks. “I find that hard to believe.” You shrug. “Maybe someone said it once, or they meant to say it but didn’t get around to it. I don’t know, but as it stands, you’re the only one that’s ever admitted you loved me.”

“Come here,” Ivar whispers, he brings you into a kiss so tender it’s nearly unbelievable. He wraps his hands in your hair, pulls you to sit on his lap. You return the kiss desperately. He breaks away, laughing when you chase him. “If you let me,” He says. “I’d like to spend the rest of my days telling you how much I love you.” You giggle and say, “I’d like that.”


	9. Ruined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Ivar are having a moment when something ruins it.

            Siggtrygg thanks his lucky stars he forgot his toothbrush. He was going to stay with his Uncle Floki and Aunt Helga for the weekend, and needed it, hating the feeling of not being able to brush his teeth. As he passes the kitchen, he stops. He knew his father and you were together, you kiss each other sometimes in front of him, but that was nothing like he was seeing now. He stared and watched the scene before him, blinking several times before his brain would let him process that what he was seeing was very real.

            It seemed things were working out better than he hoped. He had a secret fear that because his father was sometimes so difficult, you might not able to handle him. Or maybe, you would turn out to be someone else in private than you were at school. His biggest fear was that, no matter how much you loved him, you wouldn’t love his father. He wanted you so badly to be his mother, and while you had agreed to it, even if you and father separated, he didn’t think he could keep seeing you behind his father’s back.  

            This little scene blew all those fears away. Your look of utter adoration mirrored Ivar’s exactly. The smile, the twinkle in the eye. It was glorious and wonderful and beautiful. Siggtrygg was so happy for you both he didn’t have time to be jealous. Perhaps it was because he knew in his heart you both loved him too.

            There was a bowl of strawberries and a tub of whipped cream situated in between you too. Ivar held one of the berries to your mouth. It was piled high with whipped cream. There’s no way in hell you were getting it all in your mouth, but you were going to give it a valiant try. As you dove in, Ivar moved the strawberry away from you. You giggled and chased it, snapping your teeth. Ivar laughed.

            Siggtrygg stares at you in wonder. You made his father laugh. You made Ivar Lothbrok _laugh,_ not chuckle, not snort, but laugh. It’s then that Siggtrygg believes you and his father are meant to be, there’s no other way to explain it. Ivar rewards you eventually, putting the berry in a place for you to reach easily. You bite into it, but Ivar jerks and gets whipped cream all on your nose. This time, Ivar bends over his laughter is so strong.

            You look at him with your mouth open in shock. “I can’t believe you did that!” you gasp, swatting at him. He only laughs harder as you wipe the cream from your nose. “I wish I could say I’m sorry,” he tells you, bringing you in for a quick kiss on the cheek. You groan and turn to him, shaking you head. “You’re lucky I love you.”

            Siggtrygg nearly hollers for joy. You love his father! You really love his father! You said it and everything! He watches in anticipation as Ivar lands a kiss on your lips. He opens his mouth to say something, but Floki comes in. “What on earth is taking that boy so long!” He calls, stomping down the hall. “Twiggy! Twiggy hurry up your aunt is waiting for you.” Floki stops in front of Siggtrygg, who isn’t embarrassed in the least about being caught watching.

            Floki completely ignores you and Ivar, and the mortification they feel at being caught. Floki looks at Siggtrigg confused, “What? What’s with the glare?”

“You ruined it!” Siggtrygg whines punching Floki. “Ruined what?” Floki flinches and weakly blocks. “Father was going to say ‘I love you too!’ But no! you had to come in here and ruin it all.”

            “What are you talking about?” Floki says, finally looking up. He sees Ivar holding you close to him, your entire face is flushed with red. You’re looking worriedly at Ivar. Siggtrygg worries that you’ll take your love back if Ivar doesn’t tell you he loves you too. Siggtrygg tries to encourage him silently, but Ivar isn’t looking at him, he’s looking at Floki, mouth working up and down.

            Floki lets out one of his characteristic giggles. “Well?” He asks. “Well what?” Ivar snaps. Siggtrygg takes it as a good sign Ivar hasn’t let you go. “Are you going to tell her you love her or not?”

“Ivar, you don’t have to say anything.” You whisper. Siggtrygg wishes you hadn’t said that, because now Ivar will never tell you he loves you. “Hush woman.” Ivar says. Siggtrygg watches as Ivar moves some hair from your face and kisses you a little longer than before. When you both pull back, there’s no mistaking your feelings on your faces. “I do love you.” This time. Siggtrygg can’t help himself, and hollers for joy.


	10. Birthday pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Siggtrygg's Birthday! How does this little party go?

            Ivar ruffles Siggtrygg’s dark hair. “Don’t be down Boy,” He says. “Do you honestly think she’d miss your birthday party?” Siggtrygg grabs his father’s hand. “No,” he says. “But I can’t help but worry.” Ivar doesn’t get the chance to comfort him as Aslaug begins to walk up the driveway. Of course she’s first to greet them, she’s always early to Siggtrygg’s events. “Hello grandmother.” Siggtrygg says, giving Aslaug a hug. “Hello Siggtrygg. Happy Birthday.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you grandmother.” He replies.

            “Are you excited for your big day?” She asks him. Siggtrygg looks up at Ivar, then looks back at the driveway. Aslaug frowns in confusing, looking at Ivar for an explanation. “He’s invited someone special.” Ivar explains, nudging him. Siggtrygg smiles. “Oh? Does Siggtrygg have a special lady in his life?” Aslaug teases. “Yes,” Siggtrygg says, smile becoming sly. “Father’s new girlfriend.” Aslaug’s mouth drops as she looks at Ivar. He feels his face grow red, but he meets his mother’s gaze. “I think you’ll like her mother.” Ivar admits. “She’s quite lovely.”

“She’s the prettiest woman ever grandmother.” Siggtrygg says. “And she and father are in looooveee.” Siggtrygg nudges Ivar, who can’t help the smile breaking over his face. “You are too much Boy.” He says. “Where’s father?” He asks, wanting to change the subject quickly.

“Ragnar is just over there,” Aslaug nods in his direction. Ragnar is struggling with two large, brightly colored packages. He drops one and groans, making to kick it, but thinking the better of it. You appear behind him, rushing to help him pick it up. “She’s here!” Siggtrygg says. He launches himself from his father’s side and begins to run down the driveway. Ragnar, excited to see his only grandson, drops the remaining present and flings his arms open to receive Siggtrygg. He’s momentarily confused as Siggtrygg runs right past him and into your arms.

            Ivar watches as you laugh and catch him. “Is that her?” Aslaug leans in to ask. “Yeah,” Ivar sighs, “That’s her.” She watches you and Siggtrygg for a moment. Ragnar is looking at you confused, and maybe a little hurt Siggtrygg ran to greet you so enthusiastically.

“Siggtrygg seems to like her very much.”

“She was his teacher,” Ivar explains. “You remember, the one that told me Siggtrygg was a delight in her class.”

“She must be a remarkable girl.” Aslaug says. You’ve now introduced yourself to Ragnar, arm around Siggtrygg’s shoulders, his own skinny arm is around your waist. The boy is looking up at you lovingly. “She’s very remarkable.” IVar admits. He snaps his gaze to Aslaug. She’s looking at the small group serenely. “Mother,” Ivar says, tone serious. “Hm?” She looks at him, smiling. “I know you don’t like many of the women I bring around, and that’s your prerogative. I know you’re only looking out for me. But I love this woman, and Siggtrygg loves her. She will be your daughter-in-law one day, please behave today.”

            Aslaug gives him a look. “Of course,” she says, placing a kiss to his temple. Ivar is satisfied with her answer. Siggtrygg is now dragging you towards the entrance of their home, obviously excited for you to be here. “And this is my grandmother!” Siggtrygg says. “Aslaug.” You smile nervously at her. “Hello,” You say, holding out your hand. Aslaug takes it. “Siggtrygg tells me you and Ivar are a couple.” Ivar watches as your face blooms red. Your eyes flick quickly to his, but he makes sure his face gives nothing away. “Yes,” You say certainty filling your tone. “I’m Ivar’s girlfriend.”

“I’m afraid he hasn’t told me much about you.” Ivar sends a glare to his mother. “That’s funny,” Siggtrygg says, “Because they loooovee each other. Don’t you father?” You giggle and look at your feet. You and Ivar both are red now. “Yes, Siggtrygg,” Ivar says, stooping to his son’s level. “I love her, very much.” You let out another giggle as Ivar pulls you in for a kiss. Aslaug and Ragnar share a look, shocked at the display of affection.

            You shift as everyone stares openly at you. “Where’s your present?” Aslaug finally asks. “Siggtrygg asked me not to get him one.” You explain. Aslaug gives a haughty look. “But it’s his birthday.” She argues. You nod. “I know, that’s why I’m giving him exactly what he wants. Everyone should get what they want on their birthday, even if it’s nothing.” Ivar sends a pointed look to Ragnar, who ignores him and shoves past the little group. It’s well know that Siggtrygg didn’t want a part this year. But Ragnar insisted.

            Aslaug leaves a lingering look before she disappears as well. Siggtrygg tugs on your hand. “Will you stay and greet guests with us?”

“Of course.” You say. You situate yourself behind Siggtrygg, but next to Ivar. Ivar can’t help the smile the breaks over his face. This is perfect, now everyone who comes today will now exactly who you are. They’ll know you love him, and love Siggtrygg, that you aren’t embarrassed by either one of them. He wants nothing more than to hold you tightly to him, but he assures himself that will come later.

*

            It’s nerve wracking, greeting guests. For the most part they welcome you warmly. Ubbe and his wife Margrethe. “Brother!” UBbe says, greeting him with an enthusiastic hug. You see Ivar’s mouth purse in annoyance, but he doesn’t say anything. “And my nephew!” Ubbe sweeps Siggtrygg into a hug. The boy laughs. “Hello Uncle Ubbe.” He says, giving his uncle on the cheek.

            Ubbe looks at you, smiling. “And who’s this?” He asks, holding out a hand. Ivar grabs your waist before you can shake it. “That’s father’s girlfriend,” Siggtrygg says proudly. “They’re in love.” Ubbe’s eyes twinkle as you try to tamp down a nervous giggle. You introduce yourself to Ubbe and his wife. You can tell Ubbe wants nothing more than to sit there and ask you questions, but he doesn’t get the chance. Ragnar is yelling at him for help. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” Ubbe says, shaking your hand again. You return the sentiment, smiling as he and Margrethe disappear into the house.

            “Boy,” Ivar says, tugging on Siggtrygg’s ear. “Are you going to tell everyone we’re on love?”

“Yup!” Siggtrygg says, smiling. “Everyone deserves to know. And It isn’t like you’re going to tell them, so I’m going to do it for you.”

“What if one of us minds it?” Ivar asks, sending you a quick, panicked look. You grab his hand. “I don’t mind it if you don’t.” You say. Ivar just stares, trying to believe you. “Well?” Siggtrygg says. “Aren’t you going to tell her you don’t mind too father?” Ivar huffs, wrapping and arm around your shoulders, giving you a kiss to your temple. “No, I don’t mind either.”

            The next sibling you meet is Hvitserk. He greets Ivar and Siggtrygg the same way. Enthusiastic hugs and a kiss on the cheek from Siggtrygg. When the boy makes a similar remark about you and Ivar being in love, Hvitserk laughs and brings you into an unexpected hug. You awkwardly return it. “I’m happy for you brother!” Hvitserk says, clapping Ivar on the back. “It’s about time you managed to trick a girl into loving you.”

Ivar rolls his eyes. “Get in there.” He mutters, shoving Hvitserk away. Even through the annoyance, they’re both laughing.

Floki needs no introduction. The night he caught you and Ivar having a moment, he threatened you with bodily harm should you hurt Ivar or Siggtrygg. Ivar was ready to come to your defense, but you beat him to it. You simply held Floki’s gaze and told him you had no such intentions. For a moment, you were worried he might hurt you just for standing up to him, but he gave an odd little giggle instead. He rounded the corner of the kitchen counter, brought you and Ivar into a hug, and kissed your cheek despite you being a complete stranger. This time, his reaction was no less enthusiastic.

 He flounces up the few stairs leading into Ivar’s home, a pretty blond woman behind them. “See Helga!” Floki says, skipping Ivar and Siggtrygg to bring you into his arms. “Isn’t the beautiful?” He shoves you in front of the blond woman, who’s giving you an apologetic smile. “Hello,” you say a little breathless at being manhandled with such ease. She grabs your hand and kisses your cheek. “I’m so happy for you and Ivar,” She tells you. She puts a hand on your cheek, “You really are very beautiful.” Floki giggles behind you. “Thank you,” You say. “You’re very beautiful too.” She gives you a kind smile.

Siggtrygg interrupts you all, clearing his throat. Helga and Floki abandon you in favor of the boy. You see that they haven’t brought any gifts for him either. You watch, sharing a look with Ivar as they shower the eleven year old with kisses. Siggtrygg giggles, eating it up.

Ivar told you about how Floki and Helga couldn’t have children of their own. They had taken care of him when he was younger and his mother needed a break. In turn, they had also taken care of Siggtrygg when Ivar felt out of his depth. It was a beautiful scene really, Ivar engaging whole heartedly with them, nothing but smiles and easiness. You wondered, with proof like this, how he’d ever gotten a rotten image in the media.

Ivar’s face drops, and he beings to glare. You watch, as all three of them immediately form a sort of protective barrier around Siggtrygg. It’s sudden, and you can’t figure out why the hell it happened. Siggtrygg picks up on it too, throwing you a confused look. You shrug your shoulders and follow their gaze. Your heart drops to your stomach. It’s Miranda and Sigurd. Now you understand the immediate defensive circle. You stand as tall and as straight as you can to greet them, while Floki, Ivar, and Helga form a tighter ring around Siggtrygg as they approach.

As usual, you have feelings of inadequacy when facing Miranda. She’s just so damn beautiful, but you push those aside as they walk up the steps. Your priority is Siggtrygg, whatever game they were playing, you wouldn’t let it touch your boy. “Oh,” Miranda says, looking at your critically, not bothering to greet anyone else. “It’s you.” You give her a tight-lipped smile. “Hello Miranda, Sigurd.” You greet them, holding out your hand. They shake it.

Sigurd, seemingly oblivious to all the tension, throws his arms wide. “Aren’t you going to greet your uncle?” He says. You watch as Siggtrygg, smiles and runs to him. Sigurd gives him the same warm greeting his other uncles had given him. You previously thought that maybe Sigurd’s intense dislike for his brother would branch out towards his nephew, but it doesn’t seem the case. So, you figure that perhaps him bringing Miranda isn’t a malicious act. At least, not on his part. Surely they’d take pity on a boy on his birthday?

You and Ivar share an uneasy look. “Siggtrygg,” Sigurd says. “This is my friend, Miranda.” Sigurd grabs Miranda’s hand. The boy huffs, clearly annoyed with Sigurd. You smile, knowing a smart remark is coming. Siggtrygg truly did hate being treated younger than he was. “That’s great, father’s ‘friend’ is prettier.” Siggtrygg bites back, picking up that Miranda might be a problem. Everyone looks at you, you simply smile and bend to look Siggtrygg in the eye. “Why don’t you go see if your grandfather needs help?” You say, ruffling his hair. He smiles at you. Floki and Helga immediately flank him, taking him to see Ragnar. You don’t think Miranda misses the glares they send her way. The moment he’s out of ear shot, you hear Ivar growl, “What the hell are you doing here?”


	11. Birthday pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda is stirring things up at the birthday party, how does it go?

            The look Ivar was giving Miranda scared you. You had never seen him look so cold before. “Are you serious? On my son’s birthday?” He growls. “He’s my son to,” Miranda shoots back. “You lost that privilege when you walked out on us!”

“Not so loud.” You caution, putting a hand to Ivar’s shoulder trying to calm him. Miranda snaps her gaze to you. “This is a private conversation, leave.”

“When it involves Siggtrygg, she has a right to be here as much as I do.” You try your best to hide your smile by bending your head down, but Miranda catches it anyway. “He’s my son too Ivar. I think I have a right to see my son on his birthday.” Miranda continues, ignoring your presence. “You had years to get involved in Siggtrygg’s life! What changed your mind?”

“I realized-”

“What? What did you realize, that Siggtrygg wasn’t like me? That he was a wonderful little boy? That he’s smart and beautiful and everything a parent could want in a child?” The look Miranda gives him jolts you. Everything falls into place. Why Miranda approached you at the arcade, why you kept seeing her from time to time after that. She was with Sigurd for a reason. “It’s not just about Siggtrygg.” You whisper. You step away from Ivar, looking between them. Ivar has told you a little about his and Miranda’s relationship. It hadn’t been all bad, not until she’d gotten pregnant. He’d been mad for her in the beginning. And it seemed that she’d been mad for him once upon a time.

            Ivar is looking at you confused, “What are you talking about?” He’s clearly annoyed; you’ve figured it all out and he hasn’t. “Ivar,” You say, your heart breaking. “She still loves you.” Ivar rolls his eyes, scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. She left me a long time ago, she doesn’t love me or my boy.” He looks to Miranda, who’s unable to meet his eyes. His brows furrow. You’re backing away from him, the feelings are entirely too much. You didn’t doubt Ivar’s feelings for you, but this was Siggtrygg’s mother, Ivar loved her first. You’re trying to distance yourself now. “I, uh,” You say. “I’m going to go see if your father needs any help.” You have to get out of there before you explode.

“You’re staying right there.” Ivar growls. It freezes you in your tracks. You want to leave, feel the need to leave, but Ivar is commanding, and you don’t want to make things worse. He turns back to Miranda. “When it comes to my boy, I’m going to do what’s best. You need to leave.”

“Ivar, I have a right to see my son.” Miranda argues.

“Not after an eleven year absence!” You fiddle with your fingers, watching them argue. You can’t shake the feeling that Miranda is going to somehow win Ivar back. And why wouldn’t Ivar got back to her. Blond, slim, looking like she was ready for a cover shoot at any moment. They’d be the ultimate power couple, to gorgeous people together, dominating the entire world. Siggtrygg their perfect, beautiful son.

Ivar eventually turns to you, ripping you from your internal agony. “Please, help me out here.” He says. You shake your head. “I agree with Miranda,” You whisper. “Pardon?” Ivar asks, you wince, really wishing you didn’t agree. You wanted this woman gone forever. You wanted your happy ending for once. Didn’t you deserve a happy ending? “She has a right to at the very least try to talk to Siggtrygg. And Siggtrygg has the right to know his mother. If he wants to know her.”

            You watch Ivar’s jaw work. You wished you could agree with him, but you can’t. You truly agreed with Miranda, they had the right to at least try. “Fine,” He says. “Go get Siggtrygg, we’ll settle this right now.” You nod and rush from the kitchen. You take a few moments to gather your wits. Breathing deeply and letting the breath out slowly, you feel your world is crumbling around you as you begin your search for Siggtrygg.

            Ivar is going to leave you, and so is his son, _your_ son. You shake your head, trying to loosen the thoughts. You remind yourself Siggtrygg, no matter how much you loved him, was never yours. Neither was Ivar. It tore you up inside nonetheless. You had to let them go when it happened. It was for the best, as Ivar and Siggtrygg’s happiness was what you lived for at this point.

            You spotted Siggtrygg playing with Ubbe, running in a circle. As you approach, a sense of calm washes over you. The knowledge that you’re doing the right thing helps ease your pain somewhat. No matter how bad it breaks you, no matter how much it hurts, Siggtrygg had a right to know. He had a right to have the chance, if he wanted, to know his mother. Both of your boys, your beautiful, beautiful boys, had a right to all the happiness in the world.

            You reach Sgitrygg, who stops his chase with Ubbe to give you another hug. “Are you coming to play tag too?” He asks. You smile and run your fingers through his dark hair. You take a moment to ingrain his features in your mind, fearing these are the last few moments you’re going to see him. He is Ivar’s boy, through and through. “Your father wants to see you.” You tell him. He nods, taking your hand. Unknowingly, Siggtrygg leads you to your doom.


	12. Birthday pt. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siggtrygg's response to finding out who his real mother is.

            Ivar is worried, the look of utter despair on your face as you left the kitchen tears his heart to pieces. He can’t help but hate Miranda all the more for it. How dare she come back into his life to destroy everything? He just got you, he doesn’t want to let you go. He’s terrified of it in fact. He knows he’ll lose you because of Miranda. How can you stay with this much drama in your life? This has always been Miranda’s game. Come back just when he thinks he’s happy, and destroy it all.

            As much as Ivar doesn’t want to let you go, he knows he can’t force you to stay. Why make you miserable just to give him some peace of mind? If he had to be honest with himself, the sheer amount of love he has for you eclipses everything he thought he knew before. He’s terrified of losing it, but if it was what you wanted, he’d separate from you with the heaviest of hearts.

            When you come back into the kitchen, your face is stone. Siggtrygg looks very worried. Ivar wants nothing more than to take you both in his arms and kiss away your worries, but forces himself not to. This storm could blow you all in either direction. He prays to whoever will listen that he’s able to keep you. “What’s going on?” Siggtrygg asks. He looks at Ivar, but clings to you.

            The sheer amount of love in your face as you look at Siggtrygg moves Ivar. Makes him hope you don’t want to leave him after all. “Siggtrygg, this is Miranda.” You say, your voice steady. Siggtrygg looks at her. “I know, she’s here with uncle Sigurd.”

“Siggtrygg, I’m your mother.” Miranda says, giving him a small smile. Ivar can’t decide who to focus on in this moment, you or Siggtrygg. Neither of you are giving anything away, however. Siggtrygg takes his time to react, looking over Miranda carefully. “No,” He says. “You aren’t.”

“Yes,” Miranda says, insistent. “I am, I gave birth to you eleven years ago.”

“You mean you dumped me on father’s door step eleven years ago.”

“Siggtrygg,” You mutter, whatever it is you want to tell him, he doesn’t let you. “Don’t, just don’t, ok?” He says, looking at you desperately. “I get it, the guilt is eating away at you.” He turns to Miranda. “You wonder how I’m doing, what I’m up to. Wonder what I’m like. Well,” He throws his arms out to the side. “My name is Siggtrygg Lothbrok. Ivar Lothbrok is my father. I’m eleven today. I’m so smart that father hired me a private tutor. I’m cute, I’m artistic, and I’m mad as hell you thought that this was a good time to try and get to know me. Where were you when I was five, and it was Mother’s Day Tea Party at school and I was the only one who didn’t have a mother?

“Where were you when I was seven, and I got sent to the hospital when I was sick? Where were you when I was eight, and a bully beat me up so bad I broke three ribs? Where were you when I was ten, and everyone was afraid of me and I had no friends because I was a ‘problem child’?

“You know who was there for me? My father. You know, the man you left because you couldn’t handle him being cranky from time to time? He was at Mother’s Day Tea Party, he was there in the hospital with me when I was sick, he was there to help me through getting bullied, he’s been with me every day of my entire life. No matter how bad things got. My father was never afraid of me, and neither was she.” Siggtrygg points to you. Your eyes go wide, color drains from your face. You clearly don’t want to be involved in this at all. “That’s my mother.” The finality with which Siggtrygg says it ends the entire argument, at least in Ivar’s mind.

            Miranda’s face is equal parts furious and distressed. Ivar can’t help but beam at his son. “Does she even want to be your mother?” Miranda snaps, clearly upset she hasn’t gotten her way. “I asked her,” Siggtrygg says, puffing his chest up proudly. “And she said yes. Even if I hadn’t asked her I know because she went to the movies with me, and made cookies with me. She goes to the park with me and father, and lets me play with her dog. She gives me hugs and kisses, and she was never afraid of me. She treated me like I was somebody, just like my father did. She’s sweet and pretty and she’s my mother. Whether you want her to be or not.”

            Ivar doesn’t even try to stop the tears that are springing to his eyes at his boy’s speech. This turned out much better than he could have ever hoped. He looks at you, but doesn’t catch your eye, your turned away from them, shoulders shaking with emotion. Miranda is red with fury, but Siggtrygg is nothing but proud. “Now,” He says, straightening his shirt. “If you’re all done with me, I’d like to return to something more important. Like playing take with my uncles.” Siggtrygg turns and marches smartly out of the room. 

            The room is quiet except for your soft sniffles. Miranda is breathing heavy, angry at the turn of events, but Ivar can’t help but smile. He calls to you softly, wanting nothing more than the press of your warm body to his. You rush to him. “Oh for the love of Saint Pete.” Miranda scoffs, watching you two. You both ignore her, embracing each other tightly.

            Ivar hears Miranda stomp out of the kitchen, off to where, he doesn’t care. He’s too focused on calming you down. “It’s ok,” He whispers, “Shh, it’s ok.” He pulls you back to get a good look at you. You’re a complete mess, tears streaming down your cheeks, face red and contorted into ugly crying. But to Ivar, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. “Hey, it’s ok.” He says, kissing you, trying to wipe your years away with his thumb. “It’s ok,” he repeats. “I thought I’d lost you both.” You whimper. Your clutching at his shirt for dear life. “I can’t lose you, I love you too much. You can’t guys can’t leave me.”

            Ivar’s heart melts at your words. “I know, we won’t.” He promises, kissing you again. “We aren’t going anywhere.” He brings you back to his embrace, happier than he remembers being for the longest time.  


	13. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonight is the night you and Ivar make love for the very first time, however, you have to get through one last hurdle.

            Ivar wants you. He thinks about what it’s like to touch you, taste you. He wants to glide his hands up and down your body, to see you writhe beneath him, on top of him, to hear you moan and whimper and whine. He wants you to call out his name in pleasure, to arch your back and claw at him with need. But there’s something he needs from you first. He needs you to see his legs.

            It’s the last hurdle really. You already have gold stars in Siggtrygg’s book, so he can’t use that against you. His brothers like you, his parents. He can’t even find fault in your overly romantic tastes. It’s not like you expect all that impossible drivel from him. If you did, he didn’t know about it, which is just as well, because he didn’t think he had a romantic bone in his body.

            He thinks this is the perfect time to test you. It’s getting cooler out, and his legs are beginning to ache. Soon, he’ll have to spend a day in bed, he sense it coming. But he wants to see your reaction to his legs before all that. He wants to be able to judge you with a clear head. He’s still worried that you’ll reject him. His brain says if you didn’t love him, you wouldn’t be with him now. However, his heart is a heart that’s been shattered one too many times, so he still doubts you.

            As he pulls into the driveway, finally home from work, he’s pleased to see your car. He’d given you a key the day after Siggtrygg’s birthday party, hoping it would encourage you to come around more. It did absolutely nothing of the sort. You preferred to be invited, feelings as though you were intruding otherwise. It irritated him, but he couldn’t fault your caution.

            He gets out, wincing in pain. Yes, tonight is going to be a good night for you to show you his legs. He somehow makes it to his front door without having to take a rest on the steps. He opens it, and the smell that hits his nose is the most mouthwatering he could imagine. He notes there’s also music in the air. Curious, he follows the sound.

            He stops at the entrance of the dining room. You and Siggtrygg are nothing but a fit of giggles as you try and show him how to waltz. You throw your head back in laughter as he spins himself on your finger. “C’mon mother!” He says. “I thought you were supposed to be teaching me how to dance.” He giggles. “I can’t if you keep adding moves!” You protest, laughing again as Siggtrygg tries his best to spin you. You let go of his hand and twirl, coming back to him when you’ve completed it.

            Ivar clears his throat, interrupting your fun. You both let out a small ‘oh’ and scramble to look presentable. “Why are you two dressed up?” He says. You’re wearing a black dress, much like the one you wore on your first date. But no shoes, just in your stockings. Siggtrygg is dressed in a suit, also no shoes. “Family date night.” You say. “Siggtrygg’s idea.”

“You’ve been working really hard lately,” Siggtrygg says. “I just wanted to do something nice.” He shrugs looking at the table. Ivar follows his gaze. It isn’t a big spread, but big enough for a family of three. Ivar looks back at you two. “You made this?”

“I can cook.” You mutter, digging your toe into the wooden floor. It’s something you do when you’re nervous, not sure if he’ll like something or not. Ivar ‘hms’ and goes to sit down. “At the head of the table father.” Siggtrygg whispers, jerking his head. Ivar chuckles, not seeing why it’s so important. “Why not let your mother sit at the head? Hm?” Siggtrygg looks at you, as you turn red. You’re not used to either of them calling you ‘mother’ so they do it often, just to see that pleased look of yours. “Ok.” Siggtrygg says, pulling out your chair. You sit, while the boys take a seat on either side of you.

            This is strange for Ivar. He hasn’t ever used his own dining room. It was just for decoration. The only time he ever had people in his home was for Siggtrygg’s birthday. His brothers never came to visit, his father never dropped by, not even his mother called upon him. In fact, you saw more of the inside of his house than anyone ever had. He didn’t have a butler, a maid, anything of the sort. Just a driver for the limo he called on every once and while.

            Ivar watches you serve Siggtrygg, then himself. The warmth that surrounds you all is addictive. The scene is like one of those crappy Christmas films. As you all eat, you talk about your day, you joke and you laugh. You grab his hand and look at him with such love he feels as though he’s going to burst. He is more firm in his plans to let you see all of him tonight. He has to know if you can handle it, needs to know if this scene is going to be repeated. He wants you to be his forever, and he can hardly wait to figure out if you will be.

*

            Ivar is more nervous now than the entirety of your relationship. Desert has been served, the dishes have been done, and you’ve even put Siggtrygg to bed. You’re getting ready to go when Ivar stops you. Your look of love is one he tried to engrain in his mind forever. It’ll be the one thing that gets him through the pain of rejection. Knowing that, for one moment, you loved him, completely and utterly loved him. “I need help,” he tells you. “Getting ready for bed, my legs,” He can’t finish. Your smile becomes gentle and you kiss him. “Of course.”

            You follow him to his room. As he sits, you await instruction. “My clothes, they’re in there.” He nods to his bureau across the room. You move to get them. “Do you want to take a bath?” You ask, rooting around in his drawer. “The heat might help ease the pain.” You turn to him, holding up sweatpants. You give him a bright smile. “Would you mind running the water?” He asks. You shake your head. “Not at all my love.” You hand him the pants and kiss his temple.

            He breathes a sigh of relief, so far, so good. He waits anxiously, jumping when he hears you laugh. “You have bubble bath?” You call. He goes red but answer with a, “Yes.”

“Do you want me to toss in a few capfuls?” He rubs his hands up and down his thighs. “Yes.” He listens to you hum as you prepare the bath. He’s struck by the idea of asking you to join him, but declines. Everything is going so well; he doesn’t want to ruin it so quickly. He shoots a quick prayer in the universe that he has another chance to ask you next time. Because next time, he’ll be smooth about it. Suave, like Ubbe. Confident, like he knows what he’s doing rather than panicking on the inside.

            He hears the water stop and you come out. “It’s ready.” You tell him. “I hope it isn’t too hot.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He says. You stop right before him. “Ivar?” You ask, running your fingers through his hair. He looks up at your worried face, desperate. “Ivar, honey, are you in that much pain?”

“I can manage,” He grabs his crutches and stands. You back up and allow him to maneuver his way to the bathroom. “Would you like me to rub them when you’re done?” He pauses at the entryway, looking back at you. “I don’t mind.” You give him an encouraging smile. He starts to chicken out, to say no, but he eventually nods. Your smile widens. “Ok love, I’ll be here when you need me.”

            Ivar slips into the bath, wondering how long he can stay hidden in there. He doesn’t want to go through with it. He wants to just hide, hide himself forever. But he needs this, needs to know you accept all of him before he can give himself to you. As he tries to relax and let the heat do its job, he can’t help the thoughts tumbling through his mind. A knock on the door nearly makes him jump from his skin.

            “Ivar, is everything ok in there?” You ask him. He must be taking too long. “Yes,” He calls. “Yes, everything is fine. I’m getting out now.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, I’m ok.” Ivar grits his teeth, damn you. Damn your charity, your niceness. Damn that he’s fallen so deeply in love with you. He hauls himself from the bath, unplugs it, and begins to dry off. His hands are shaking as he slips on his underwear. He grabs his crutches and pauses at the door. He swallows hard, this is it. This is the make it or break it point. He opens the door and walks out. He doesn’t look at you at first, not wanting to see your reaction. But when he does, he’s so relieved he could weep.

            You’re smiling at him. It’s the same loving smile you’ve worn the entirety of your relationship. “Come on,” You jerk your head towards the bed. “You look like you’ve had a rough day.” He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

            It doesn’t take him long to get settled into bed. The moment he is, you waste no time in getting to work. You put his legs on your lap and begin to rub them. He groans in relief. The ache in his legs lessening as much as the ache in his heart. He’s made up his mind, he’s keeping you all for himself.

*

            You catch yourself humming as you rub Ivar’s legs. More to distract yourself than anything. Ivar’s near nakedness has your pulse racing. You want to run your hands over more than just his legs, but decide you better not. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but holy hell did you want to see how those muscles moved above you. You wanted the grunts coming from his mouth now to be ones he spills when his in between your thighs. You want to watch those powerful muscles twitch as he takes you. Fast or gentle, you don’t care. You chastise yourself at the imagery, that was no way to think about your boyfriend. Especially when he’s so obviously in pain.

“You stopped humming.” He points out. “Oh, lost in thought I suppose.” You say, hitting a particularly hard knot. He groans and you resist the urge to just throw yourself at his mercy. “What are you thinking about?” You turn red, unwilling to answer him. “Don’t tell me you’re having naughty thoughts.” He teases. You look at him apologetically. “I didn’t mean to.” You say, not able to lie to him. His mouth drops at your confession. His shocked face soon turns into a wicked smile. “You know, sharing is caring.” This serves to heat your face up more.

            “Well?” He asks as you rub his legs. “I’m waiting to hear about it.” You glare at him, not appreciating the teasing. “Why don’t you just fuck me if you’re so eager?” You snap, embraced enough at having gotten caught. You immediately regret your words, but at the wicked grin on his face, you can tell he’s ok with it. “Only if you want to.” He says.

            You turn from him to stare at the wall. “I’ve wanted you for a while.” You admit. You feel Ivar shift. He brings a hand to your face, and forces you to turn towards him. “Fucking will come later,” He promises. “Tonight,” he kisses you. “Tonight, will you just let me love you?”

            You nod eagerly. Ivar moves his legs from your lap with some difficulty. But when he put his hands under your arms, he easily yanks you on top of him as he lies down. You don’t really get the chance to react as his mouth is on yours, kissing you tenderly. You return it with all the love you can muster. You squeal as Ivar grabs a handful of your ass. He chuckles. “I’m sorry,” He turns you both over. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the first day I met you.” Your giggle turns into a moan as he attacks your neck.

            You grab Ivar’s shoulders not knowing what to do with your hands as he attends to your neck. When you let out a gasp as he passes over a particular spot, he latches onto it. You wriggle your hips as he sucks on your skin. You’re sure there’s going to be a mark there tomorrow, but you don’t care, it feels too good to care.

            Ivar pulls back a moment to run his hands up your dress. You don’t bother to wait for him to take it off. You simply rip it from your body, along with your bra. Ivar chuckles. “Eager?” He asks. “I have one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever laid eyes on hovering above me.” You say. “Of course I’m eager.”

            Ivar gives you an embarrassed chuckle, and goes back to attacking your neck. He runs his hand up your leg, up your belly, to a breast. He wastes no time in rolling a nipple between a thumb and his forefinger. You curse the moans coming from your mouth. You can count on one hand the times you’ve been touched intimately. But you’ve never been touched by such a man as Ivar.

            He begins to head downwards. You wriggle in anticipation for him to take a nipple in his sweet mouth, but he skips right over it. Instead, he’s pawing at your panties. You snicker. “Eager?” You repeat his tease. He looks at you, very serious for what’s going on between you. “I’ve wanted to please you for months.” He admits. “I’ve wanted to taste you, and to feel you.” He kiss your belly as he begins to pull your panties down. “Next time, I’ll make sure to take my time with you, right now, I just need you.”

            You open your legs the moment your panties are off, needing Ivar’s tongue to lap at you as much as he needs it. He takes a moment to situate himself. When he’s comfortable enough, he grabs your hips and gives you a first tentative lick. You tangle your hands in his hair immediately at the pleasure. Ivar hums in appreciation, “it’s like honey.” He says, giving another lick.

            As he continues his onslaught, you begin to writhe. It’s too much and not enough all at once.  You can tell Ivar is loving every whine and whimper he gets from you, because he’s not quickening his slow pace. “Ivar,” You gasp, tugging at his hair. “I’m busy.” He mutters between your legs. “I know you’re busy,” You growl. “Get more busy. I’m not some fucking flower.”

            He looks up at you, eyes twinkling. Damned if Ivar between your thighs isn’t the hottest sight you’ve ever seen. “You have quite the mouth.” He teases. “Ivar Lothbrok,” You pant. “If you don’t fulfill my dreams of orgasm by your tongue, I’ll….do something.” He snickers. “I’m scared.” He mocks. However, he takes your wish to heart and latches onto your clit, sucking with force.

            “Shit!” You close your eyes and buck your hips. You thought his slow pace was torture, but this takes the cake. Ivar doesn’t let up for a second. Sucking and laving at your clit. You’re sure by now, with the bucking of your hips that your slick has the entire half of his face covered. Soon enough, your pleasure begins to tighten your gut. “Ivar,” You moan, latching both your hands to the back of his head. There is no way he’s going to stop now. “Ivar, yes!” You gasp.

            Ivar watches you as your back arches so deeply you lift from the bed. Satisfaction runs through him. He hasn’t been with many women, but the women he has been with haven’t been as responsive as you. He decides it must be because you’re both so in love with each other. This thought rips a growl from him as he gives a particularly hard suck.

            This is what undoes you. With each wave of pleasure that rolls through you, you move your hips. Rather than restrain you, Ivar moves with you, following your bucking rather well. When you settle, he removes his mouth from you, and rests his head on your belly. You were right, your slick does cover half of his face. You can see it shine in the light. He gives your belly a few kisses as you catch your breath. You’re beautifully flushed, a light sheen of sweat covers you. You’re running your hands through his hair.

            He decides he can’t take it any longer, and kisses his way back up your body. You eagerly accept him when he reaches your mouth. One of your hands makes its way into his hair, while the other snakes down his chest. Ivar decides he likes the feel of your nails scratch at his skin. The moment your wondering hand is at his hips, you free his erection, giving it a few pumps. He breaks the kiss to lean his forehead on yours. “Let me take you.” He says. “Please, let me have you.” You smile and kiss him.

            Ivar doesn’t brother pulling his underwear down all the way, just enough to not get in the way. He eases into you, but about halfway through you let out a ‘shit’. It’s not a pleased one. He pulls back. “Are you alright?” You nod, face contorted in pain. “I’m no virgin,” you let him, “but, you’re kinda big.”

            Ivar kisses you tenderly, wondering if he should apologize. Your keen reaction to his kiss, however, stops that train of thought. He beings to ease into you again, wanting nothing more than to have his way with you. In truth, the only reason he’s going so slowly is because his legs are in screaming agony.

            When he’s inside you, he gives you a moment to adjust. Kissing all the parts of your face he can reach. When you buck your hips into his, he takes it as a sign to move. He sets a slow pace, making sure to pay attention to the reactions on your face, loving every moment of it.

            You watch him just the same. This moment is everything you wanted. Ivar, making love to you, looking as though he couldn’t live without you. It’s slow, it’s beautiful, it’s everything to you. Ivar places kisses on your lips, always short and sweet, but filled with love. The world outside you two melts away as you move as one. Your pants and moans are only heard by each other, because this is your space, this is your moment. After so long of being lonely, thinking that either of you were unlovable, this is perfect. It what you need, what you both need.

            It’s seems as though hours, days, weeks even, go by before you feel that tightening in your gut. As your face contorts in pleasure, Ivar smiles above you. “Yes,” He says, pressing his forehead to yours. “Yes, that’s it.” He feels your walls begin to tighten around him. He gives you a fierce kiss as you whimper. It only takes a few more thrusts, before your second orgasm rips through you. This is anything but gentle. It has you once again bucking your hips, clawing at Ivar’s shoulders, whimpering and moaning into his kisses. Ivar soon follows you with his own grunts and erratic hip movements.

            When your both done, breathless and spent, you take the time to press your foreheads together. Ivar gives you one last gentle kiss. “I love you,” He whispers. “I love you so much.” You hug his body to you, filled with unbridled joy. As he settles against you, trying not to crush with his wait, you tell him you love him too.


	14. Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and Siggtrygg are planning something, of course his brothers get involved.

Ivar likes to watch you sleep. Mainly, because when you’re sleeping together, you’re naked, and he can take in all of you at his leisure. It’s hard to appreciate you when you’re awake because he can’t keep his hands off you, nor you him. It’s been a whirlwind of three months since your first time. He takes you every chance he gets, and to his complete and utter amazement, you’ve received him every time.

            Ivar wasn’t a fool, he knew that sex wasn’t the penultimate form of love, but it did hold a lot of weight in his heart. He could give all of himself to you when you made love, every time, and every time, you could reject him. You didn’t, and it made him more determined than ever to marry you.

            Which has resulted in a hellacious month of trying to find you a perfect ring. Siggtrygg, lovely boy that he is, tried his hardest to help, but Ivar was taking too long, being too picky. “It has to be perfect Boy.” Ivar explains. “I know father,” Siggtrygg growls, looking through the ring catalogue Ivar ordered. “But I can’t see why you can’t just ask her what kind of ring she likes.”

“What kind of ring who likes?” You ask, walking into the kitchen. Siggtrygg sucks in a breath, looking panicked at his father. Ivar glares at him, willing him to be quiet. It’s hard for them, keeping this secret from you. It was all frustrating, but both of them wanted it to be a surprise, despite their impatience. “Loves?” You ask, standing next to Siggtrygg now that you’ve gotten your coffee. You stroke his hair. Ivar wants to beat you off the boy, but it’s too late. “Engagement rings!” Siggtrygg says. “We’re looking at engagement rings.” Ivar squeezes his eyes shut but doesn’t groan. “How lovely!” You say, taking the catalogue.

            You flip through it quickly. “Who’s getting married?” You ask. Ivar’s gaze snaps back to Siggtrygg, willing him to shut up. “Uncle Ubbe is renewing his vows with Margarethe!” Siggtrygg lies, maintaining wide eyed contact with Ivar. “In fact, Uncle Ubbe is coming over today to ask you to help him chose a ring. Right dad?” This time, Ivar does groan when he puts his face in his hands. He supposed that’s one way to do it. Before you can ask any more questions, Siggtrygg bolts from his chair. “I have to go do homework!” He says. You frown, looking after him. “It’s summer break.” You mutter, sure he’d already completely the report for his summer reading.

            Ivar watches you closely as you flip through the catalogue. You don’t stop on any one ring long enough to get a feel for what you’d like. He doesn’t miss the sad look that crosses your features. He presses his lips in an incredible effort to keep quiet. If he had his way, you’d be married by now, ring be damned. He had promised himself he’d do everything right for you, however. It was the least he could do for loving him and his boy so completely.

“I’ll be back,” He says, grabbing his crutches and getting up. “I have to go call Ubbe to see what time he’s going to be here.”

*

            Ivar rips open the door to see three of his brothers standing on his steps. All of them had the biggest shit eating grins on their faces. “Oh God.” He groans as they all descend on him with congratulations. Ivar’s face turns red at their praise, not bothering to hide his smile. Even Sigurd seems happy for him. “I thought I just asked Ubbe to come, not you two as well.”

“We were together when you called.” Ivar refrains from asking ‘doing what?’ He doesn’t want to hurt more knowing that his brothers left him out of something fun. “We’re all invested in you doing this right.” Hvitserk says. “It’s not every day our baby brother proposes.” They all move into the sitting room to wait for you. In retrospect, you hadn’t exactly thought they’d be over so soon.

“You’ve asked her father for permission yes?” Ubbe asks. Ivar frowns. “No, is that important?”

“Of course it is.” Ubbe says. Ivar looks at the entrance to the sitting room. “I haven’t even met her family.” He admits. “Do you think she’s embarrassed to have me meet them?”

“Probably.” Hvitserk says. “She told me once her mother is a, and I’m quoting her exact words ‘a complete bear’.”

“So, it’s not me?” Ivar’s question is soft, like he doesn’t want to hear the answer either way. “Of course it isn’t you.” Ubbe reassures him. “Ubbe?” They hear you call. All the brothers stand as you make your way into the sitting room. You pause looking at all the smiling faces. “Uh,” You look at Ivar, who’s trying to silently apologize. “Are all of you coming?” You ask. “I’m not,” Ivar say, getting up. “I will be taking your monster dog and Siggtrygg to the park.” As he passes you, he kisses you on the cheek.

            You give the Lothbrok brothers the best smile you can. “Um, well, are you ready?” You ask, nervous to be alone with Ivar’s brothers.

*

            You’re aware of their intense stares as you look through the counter. For the most part, you want to stay out of it. If Ubbe has two other brothers to help him with choosing a vow renewal ring for Margarethe, you can’t understand what you’re doing here. “So,” Hvitserk says, saddling up next to you. “If Ivar were to choose a ring for you, what would you want him to choose?” You frown. “I don’t know, I haven’t really thought about it.” You lie.

            You’ve thought about it a lot. But you don’t want to get your hopes up. To you, Ivar doesn’t seem like someone who would go through the effort. You’re just waiting for him to ask you at a random moment. Then, obviously, you’d go looking for a ring. You look up, aware you’re being stared at. They know you’re lying. “Fine,” Ubbe says. “think about it now, and choose.”

“I thought we were here for Margrethe.” You say, trying to divert the attention. “We are,” Ubbe insists. “But I’m curious. Do you want to marry Ivar?” The question is goading and makes you bristle. “Of course I want to marry Ivar,” You snap. “I just never put much stock into it.”

“Why not?” The brothers follow you as you try to beat a hasty retreat. You don’t bother answering them. You squeak when you feel arms wrap around you. “Just humor us then,” Hvitserk says behind you. “Maybe Sigurd and I want to steal your ideas.” You huff, disentangling yourself from Hvitserk. You still weren’t used to his constant affections, but Ivar assured you that it was innocent.

            “I want to say I’d like a small, simple ring.” You inform them. “But,” your eyes roam over the countertops. “I want a big one,” You admit with a shy shrug. “How big?” Ubbe urges. You huff. “Why do you all care suddenly?” The collective smile they give you is unsettling. “We told you, we want to steal your ideas.” Hvitserk reiterates. You groan, embarrassed. “Do you want a big wedding?” Sigurd teases. “you’re all having entirely too much fun.” You mutter, leaving them.

            That’s when you spot it, the perfect ring. The boys watch as you get closer to investigate, interested in your reaction. Your heart melts at the sights of the ring. It’s a large diamond settled in two thick swirls, at each swirl end, another diamond rests. The leaves that flank the diamond also shelter it from the three smaller swirls. Your heart aches for want of it. The boy’s watch as your face melts into a sad smile.

            Surprisingly, Sigurd is the one to take initiative. He grabs you by the shoulders and leads you away from the ring. Ubbe slips behind you and motions to the jewel seller. “Tell us of your perfect wedding.” Sigurd urges. Assuring yourself that the boys are simply curious and not trying to make fun of you, you tell them.


	15. Oh Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and Siggtrygg meet your parents.

            You’re thoroughly enjoying the attention Ivar is giving you. You’re both on your sides,  and he’s holding you tightly to him, kissing your shoulders. Despite how cold it is in the room, you have the blankets off, too hot after your lovemaking to keep them on. “Can I ask you a question?” Ivar asks. You give him a sleepy, “Hm?” wanting him to be silent so you can drift off to sleep. “How come I’ve never met your family.” Ivar immediately pulls back as you stiffen in his arms.

“You don’t want to meet my family.” You mutter. “Yes, I do.” Ivar insists. “You’ve met my family.” You huff and turn to face him. He looks at you, hurt evident in his features. “How about just my brother then?”

“All of your family,” He insists. “My grandmother and my brother.”

“All of your family.”

“Maybe my sister too?”

“All of your family, and I want Siggtrygg to be there too.”

“Ivar,” You groan. You turn to look at the ceiling. “We’ll be on our best behavior,” He promises. “Why is it important to you?”

“I want to know all about you,” He says, resuming his open mouth kisses on the shoulder he can reach. “I want to know where my love comes from, what make her the amazing woman she is.” You purse your lips together, feeling your resolve breaking. “Love?” He whispers. You finally look at him, sighing. “Fine,” You grumble. “But you can’t get mad at me, remember, I tried to save you from them.” Ivar chuckles and rolls on top of you, he isn’t done with you yet.

*

            You fiddle with Siggtrygg’s tie. “Mother,” He groans. “Mother please.” He grabs your hands and pulls them from his tie. You’re all in the limo, sitting outside of your grandparents house. It seemed like neutral territory, but now, you weren’t so sure. “It’s going to be fine.” He says. You let out a sigh and kiss his forehead. “No matter what happens tonight.” You say, bringing Ivar in for a forehead kiss as well. “Remember that I love you dearly. And that’s all that matters.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely people.” Ivar says. You can’t help the harsh laughter that erupts from your belly. Sliding out of the limo, you wait for Siggtrygg and Ivar to follow you. You console yourself with the memory of trying to warn your boys about your family. Your mother and father weren’t like Aslaug and Ragnar; they didn’t keep their opinions to themselves.

            Your mother loved nothing more than picking apart your life. She was dissatisfied with everything you did. Baking, becoming a teacher, having pets, anything you loved, she automatically hated. Your father was just plain distant. Not knowing how to raise girls, he simply ignored you and your sisters. Your brother’s he had all the time for.

            As you rang the doorbell, you give a mighty gulp, looking to Ivar and Siggtrygg. You can’t help but look at them through your mother’s eyes. With as handsome and wonderful as Ivar was, he was haughty, and a cripple. With as beautiful as Siggtrygg was, he wasn’t your son, and it wasn’t your job to raise another woman’s child. You feel relief flood through you as your grandmother is the one that opens the door. “Oh my word!” She says, looking at the three of you. “Hi grandma!” You say, stepping around Siggtrygg to give her a hug. “Hello my little bird!” she says, returning it with a kiss on the cheek.

            You step back and motion to Ivar and Siggtrygg. “Grandmother, this is Ivar, my boyfriend, and our son, Siggtrygg.” Your boys beam when you say ‘our son’, but you don’t notice it, on the lookout for you mother. “Well, just look at these two handsome boys!” Your grandmother coos. She embraces them both warmly. “I’ve always wanted a great-grandbaby.” She says, looking fondly at Siggtrygg. “Come on in, let’s go meet your grandpa.” Ivar and Siggtrygg give you a smile, they’re eyes saying ‘see, this isn’t so bad’. You can’t return their happy gazes, unfortunately, you know what the evening entails.

            You all find your grandfather in the living room, sitting in his lazy boy, talking with your sisters and brothers. You have two of each, being planted firmly in the middle of them. “Everyone, this is Ivar,” Your grandmother explains. “And Siggtrygg.” For a long moment, they simply stare at your boys. “My boyfriend and son.” You finally say. “It’s about damn time you brought a boy home!” Your grandfather stands to greet them.

            Ivar and Siggtrygg give you another look. As if to ask “What were you worried for?” But they don’t know the absolute misery your parents can bring. Your grandparents get chairs for you and Ivar while your sisters make Siggtrygg sit next to them. The conversation flows easily enough, new people tended to generate questions. Plus, your boys are practiced in being charming. So, in no time, they have the entire room laughing and engaged.

            You’re clutching Ivar’s hand tightly when you hear it. The front door open and close. “Mother?” Siggtrygg asks, catching onto your unease. “The devil,” You brother says dramatically. “She’s here.” Your boys shift nervously. Everyone has gone quiet and extremely still. “It would’ve been nice to be greeted at the door.” You wince at your mother’s shrewd voice. “And I don’t see my daughter’s car outside. Probably late. What is the point of gathering us all here, if she’s late?”

            You stand as your parents walk into the room. Ivar stands as well. Siggtrygg scrambles to your side. Already, they’re faces are turning into a nasty sneer. “Mom,” You start, grabbing Ivar’s arm for support. “Dad, this is Ivar, my boyfriend, and our son, Siggtrygg.”

“Hello ma’am.” Ivar say, sticking out his hand. “Sir,” Neither of your parents move to take it. Ivar returns his hand to his side awkwardly. “I think,” You mother begins. “That I would remember if my mother had a child.”

“Mother, please,” You beg, you don’t want things to start this early. You know how lippy both Ivar and Siggtrygg can get. “Please what?” She asks. “It isn’t your job to raise some other woman’s child.”

“Wow,” Siggtrygg says, looking up at you. “You got the voice right and everything.” Everyone in the room chuckles, but you nudge him, urging him to be silent. Your mother ‘hmphs’ and looks about the room. “Well, isn’t anyone going to greet us?”

“I feel Baby Bird is doing a wonderful job.” Your grandfather says. Your brothers and sisters mumble in agreemtn. Your mother lets out another hmph. “I’ll get some chairs,” you say quietly, dreading how this evening is going to go.

*

            Ivar understands now why it was your parents you specifically didn’t want him to meet. He had watched all evening as you got smaller and smaller the more cutting your mother’s remarks got. He wanted nothing more than to smooth the frown from your face, but didn’t know how without making you more uncomfortable. Why she zeroed in on you, he had no clue, she had four other children to make miserable. To his credit, he said nothing, though his jaw hurt from the effort of keeping silent. He could tell it was wearing on Siggtrygg too. They both had a mission though, so they tried to stay as pleasant as possible.

            As for the rest of your family, they were enjoyable. Your brothers grilled him, but seemed satisfied with his answers, and your sisters cooed over Siggtrygg the entire night. Your grandparents insisted on treating him and his boy like family. “Do you all have to be anywhere anytime soon?” your grandmother asks as dinner finishes. “Not that I’m aware of.” You say, looking to Ivar. He shakes his head. His own family was waiting at his house, preparing it for tonight. He would take all the time he could get. “Not at all.” He said, smiling the old woman, “Wonderful. I was thinking we women should make cookies for desert.”

            “Can I join?” Siggtrygg asks excitedly. “Mother and I make cookies all the time, but I’ve never done it with an aunt or a grandmother before.”

“Of course you can join.” You say, kissing his hair. Your mother harrumphs. “Waste of time if you ask me.” She mutters. It seems, you have a breaking point. “Mother, enough.” You say. “Everything I do you think is a waste of time, you don’t have to keep reminding me.”

“I just can’t understand why you have to be so…traditional.” She argues. “Traditional?” You bite back. “Is that another way of saying trapped?”

“You’re so smart,” she continues, trying to state her case. “You could be anything you want, but you settle to be a teacher? Not only that, a teacher that has settled to be chained to a cripple and to raise someone else’s son?”

            You stand up, fury on your face. As you speak, your tone is deadly calm. “I think you’re confusing us mother. You’re the one that settled. I have exactly what I want. I love being a teacher, I love Ivar, and I love being Siggtrygg’s mother. They’re my boys, and this is my life, and I’m quite happy with it. Believe it or not, not everyone is a miserable old hag like you.”

            You don’t wait for your mother’s response, before turning and stomping out of the room. Everyone winces as they hear a door slam. The table is quiet. “So,” Siggtrygg says. “I guess this is a bad time for father to ask permission for mother’s hand in marriage.” Ivar groans. “Yes, Boy,” He hisses. “This is a very bad time.”

“Absolutely not!” Your mother’s tone is shrill, horrified. “Of all the incredibly stupid mistakes my daughter has made, trapping herself with a cripple and his child is the one I won’t allow her to make.”

            Ivar clamps Siggtrygg’s mouth shut with his hand, knowing the boy has something smart to say. They don’t need to antagonize anything else. “You have my permission.” Your father says. The entire table goes still. “You can’t be serious!” Your mother’s voice is now a shriek. Ivar can’t help the triumphant smile come over his face. “I haven’t been as involved as I should be in my daughter’s life,” You father admits. “But one thing I’ve noticed is how utterly miserable she’s been. Tonight, I’ve seen my girl in love and happy. I can’t find it in me to deny her that. So yes, you have my permission for my daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“I like him well enough.” The brother sitting closest to him says, clapping him on the back. The rest of the family agrees. Ivar feels on top of the world. He brings Siggtrygg in for a tight hug. He’s going to get married, and he’s going to give Siggtrygg a mother. He might have that daughter after all.

“Well then,” Your grandmother says, getting up. “Why don’t we make those cookies?”

           


	16. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar asks you to marry him.

Ivar had to wonder why, when it came to you, his confidence always failed him. When Siggtrygg got sick, he knew exactly what to do. When a particularly difficult client called him with complaints, he knew exactly what to say. He was Ivar Lothbrok, youngest son of Ragnar Lothbrok, he’d made literal billions for his family’s business because he knew what to do. You? You were a complete mystery.

            When his brother’s came home after taking you to the jewelers, they had crowded him. Ubbe pressed the ring you’d picked out into his hand as they told him what you wanted. They’d managed to remember every last detail. Now, they had put that plan in action. The best part about it? You had no idea.

            The niggling fear in the back of Ivar’s mind wasn’t that you’d say no, it wasn’t even the thought that he was unworthy of you. It was that it wasn’t what you wanted. He feared you told his brothers random ideas you’d gotten from the crap you read just to get them to shut up. You had given him absolutely everything he wanted in life, he wanted to give you the same thing. He wanted every dream you had to come true, more than anything, he wanted to be the one to make that dream come true.

            It was ridiculous the amount of effort everyone had to go through to get this all done. Ivar had been prepared to do it all himself, maybe get Siggtrygg to help with a few things, but the way his own family had rallied around him was touching. Even Bjorn had gotten in on the plans. He was sure it had more to do with the fact that it was you he was marrying, rather than out of love for Ivar himself, but he didn’t want to think about it too long. He was ready to lose his nerve.

            As the limo neared his home, Siggtrygg became more and more antsy. If Ivar was nervous, his boy was excited. He’d been bursting to tell you everything since Ivar broached the subject with him. “What’s gotten into you?” You ask him, sensing something was going on. “You have to put this on,” Siggtrygg says, passing a blindfold to you. You frown, looking to Ivar. He just gives you a smile. “Siggtrygg?” I ask, knowing the boy is weak.

            To his credit, he turns serious. “Father and I have been planning this for months, don’t make me ruin it now.” You chuckle, but put the blindfold on anyway. Ivar passes Siggtrygg the ring, he pockets it, smile splitting his face in two. He’s as eager as Ivar is to get everything over with.

            Eventually the limo parks itself in the driveway. Ivar opens to door to see his father looking for him. Ragnar rushes to the side path the leads to the back of the house, immediately, soft music starts playing. Siggtrygg helps you out of the car. “Boys?” You ask. “What’s going on?” Siggtrygg merely giggles and begins to lead you to the back yard.

            Ivar watches as his brother’s try to hide themselves as best they can. At one point, Hvitserk takes a running leap behind some bushes, almost knocking himself out on the branch from the tree behind him. You giggle. “What on earth is going on?” As you reach your destination, Ivar leaves and Siggtrygg leave your side to stand in front of you.

“You can take off the blindfold now,” Ivar says, grabbing his boy’s shoulders for support. Siggtrygg places his hands on top of his father’s and squeezes. They give you a moment to look over everything. They watch your face for any signs of reluctance or despair, but all they see is surprise and wonder.

            The entire back yard is covered in small candles, all light to give everything a soft, dim glow. The music playing is loud enough to fill the air, but not loud enough to distract you. Flower petals are strewn about the ground, reds, pinks, and oranges mixed all together. You look at your boys to see they’re standing in front of a heart shaped arch Floki especially made just for the occasion. It has flowers the same color the petals on the ground weaved into it. Ivar feels ridiculous doing all this, but at the tears that spring to your eyes as your gaze settles on him, he couldn’t feel more right in his decision to do this for you.

            “What can we say?” Ivar begins. “Ever since you entered our lives things have been that much happier, that much brighter.” He shrugs. “Siggtrygg and I had given up on ever finding someone to share everything with, but then we found you.” Tears are streaming down your face now, happiness welling within you. Siggtrygg begins to speak now. “We love you, mother,” He says, not to be outdone by his father. “Everything is so much warmer now, it’s nice to know that you can come home to hugs and kisses and laughter.” Siggtrygg brings out the ring from his pockets and opens it. Your tears turn from silent ones, to sobbing. It’s THE ring, the one you picked from the jewelers. The ones you’d been dreaming of since you saw it. It’s there, in your son’s hand, it’s real and solid.  “We just want to know if you’ll be ours forever.” Ivar’s voice is so soft, so hesitant. Like even after all this time you’ll say no.

            Somehow you manage to sob out a ‘yes’, but nodding just incase it wasn’t clear. Siggtrygg whoops and begins to jump. “She said yes!” He yells, “She said yes! She’s really going to be my mom!” Ivar pulls you into a wet, crushing kiss. You return it as best you can, but you’re laughing and crying. Ivar is ripped from you as Floki brings him for a temple kiss. You’re aware of being picked up and spun by an excited Hvitserk. All around you there are flashes as pictures are being taken.

            You eventually find yours back in Ivar’s arms as he kisses you finally slipping the ring on your finger.  


	17. Papers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You officially adopt Siggtrygg as your son.

            What people don’t tell you about getting engaged is the sheer amount of work that must be done before hand. You’re watching as your brothers and Ivar’s work together to pack your house. You’ve been standing around, twiddling your thumbs since early in the morning while the boys helped you. You wanted to help, you had a great deal that needed to be moved, but no one was letting you. You soothed yourself with the knowledge that at least your apartment wasn’t up any stairs, so it wasn’t like they had to lift a heavy couch very far.

            Halfway through the day, Ivar and Siggtrygg come in with lunch. Things quiet as the boys eat. “Come, love,” Ivar says. You frown, mouth full of burger. “We have papers to sign.” He reminds you. “But,” You begin to protest, motioning to all the boxes that lay about. Hvitserk puts a hand on your shoulder. “Go on, we won’t go through your things while you’re gone.” He promises. “I’ll kill them if they do.” Your brother calls. Everyone chuckles. Your scarf down the rest of your burger and follow Ivar and Siggtrygg to the car.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ivar tells you, pulling out of the driveway. “Changing your name, you can keep it. I really don’t mind.” You smile at your fiancé. He’s been giving you this little speech since you brought it up. “I want to change it.” You say. You grab his hand, kissing it. “At this point, being called Mrs. Lothbrok is everything that I want.” Ivar smiles, squeezing your hand. Your moment is ruined by a gagging sound in back. “You guys are so gross.” Siggtrygg says, smiling. You stick your tongue out at him, he returns the gesture.

            The rest of the ride is silent. You’re too lost in thought. Among all of today’s papers you sign, today you sign Siggtrygg’s custody papers. This makes being his mother a reality. Well, it makes it legal anyhow. You don’t know why it’s such a big deal to you, you’ve been in the role of mother for nearly a year now, since he asked you. Perhaps it was just that now, there would be physical proof that Siggtrygg Lothbrok is your son. You can’t help the smile that breaks out over your face at the thought. Very soon, you’re going to be Mrs. Lothbrok, but today, Siggtrygg will legally be your boy.

*

            Why Siggtrygg had been taken to this incredibly boring meeting with lawyers he didn’t know. He remained on his best behavior. Probably because you were there, and there was nothing more he liked than watching you. In anything that you were doing, you seemed interesting to him. He always found the thought of, ‘was this what mothers did?’ running through his mind. Did moms give kisses and hugs away so freely? Did they always hum when they brushed their hair? Did they always make pancakes for breakfast, with bacon and eggs? Did they always frame the pictures their children made to keep forever? Did they always have small smiles when they signed papers?

            He figured your smile was just because of the nature of papers. You were one step closer to becoming his father’s wife. You were already his mother, so it didn’t matter to him if you and father married, but it seemed important to everyone else. He let his mind wander about the future as the lawyer droned on and on about the nature of a ‘pre-nup’, a paper grandmother Aslaug insisted on you signing. Would you have babies with his father? He hoped you would have at least one. He figured it would be exciting to have a brother or a sister. He didn’t care which, because either way, there would be another child to take to the park and sword fight and wrestle. He hoped for one of each.

            “Is that it?” He heard you ask. He perks up, finally, you could get out of this stuffy office. Maybe he could convince you and father to stop for ice cream on the way. “One last thing.” The lawyer says. Siggtrygg just manages to stifle a groan. “Here are Siggtrygg’s guardianship papers.”

            Siggtrygg watches carefully as you take the papers from the lawyer’s hand. Ivar kisses your shoulder, eyes filled with love as always. He misses his father’s look though, because he can’t help but stare at you. There is no hesitancy in your movements as you put pen to paper, scrawling your name and initials where the lawyer asks you. Out of every paper you’ve signed, this one pulls the biggest smile from you.

            You turn to him and he can do nothing but stare. Once he thought that you looked so beautiful telling his father you loved him, but that was nothing compared to now. Now you looked just like a Valkyrie from one of his books. Beautiful, strong, and perfect in all ways. You frown, taking his shoulders in your hands. He briefly wonders if your hands were always so warm because you were so filled with love. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he flings himself at you.

            You catch him with a chuckle, arms immediately wrapping around his small frame. “What’s all this about?” You ask him gently. “It’s official.” He said, sniffling. “You’re my mother, it’s legal and everything.”

“Oh sweetie,” You say, your hug becoming tighter. Siggtrygg feels the telltale strength of his father’s arms as Ivar pulls your both into a hug. “Before you know it, we’ll all be a family.” He says. You give Siggtrygg a kiss and say, “We’re already a family.”

*

            As Ivar walks through his home, he barely recognizes it. His rooms were once decorated in washes of gray, black, and white. Any pictures that hung on the walls were stiff family portraits or stereotypical school pictures of Siggtrygg. A colorless prison for two boys who loved each other dearly, but didn’t dare let the warmth of the outside world in. Anything happy and warm was kept hidden away in a shoebox under the best for Ivar to look through on particularly difficult nights.

            All those pictures and keepsakes were on the walls now. There was color in his home. Warmth and light. Children’s drawings hung on the wall, not just Siggtrygg’s paintings, but the ones your students did for you as well. Family portraits of you, your siblings and grandparents were scattered throughout the living room. The crypt he’d made with his son finally felt like a home.

            He finds you in the kitchen with Siggtrygg. The boy was still so small and scrawny; you look over his head as you watch him paint. You look up at Ivar standing in the doorway, smiling at you. You kiss Siggtrygg’s hair before moving to Ivar. No longer worried about what his son thinks of you together, a kiss you full on the lips, just managing to keep it chaste. “I think,” Ivar says, low enough for only you to hear, “That we should take a bath.” You smile up at him and give him another kiss. “I think that is an excellent idea.” He smiles devilishly at you and leads the way.

            Ivar was more excited than he wanted to admit at the prospect of sharing a bath with you. He wanted so much to run a cloth down your shoulders, to rub your breasts with soap, to feel your soft, slippery skin underneath his fingers. The thought of seeing your chest heave underneath a pile of bubbles while he left open mouthed kisses to the backs of your shoulders aroused him more than seeing you naked between his sheets.

            He gets everything ready while you gather the clothes. As he undresses and slips in the warm water, he smiles at your humming. You did it whenever you did menial tasks around the house or graded papers. It was always soft and tuneless, but it soothed him nonetheless.

            You had opened the door crack when Siggtrygg knocked. “Come in!” You call. “Mother, do I leave my painting on the counter to dry?”

“Of course, we’ll find a place for it in the morning.” You don’t dare open the door a;; the way while he’s in the room with you. Siggtrygg knew about adult things, but he was still a boy. “Mother? Is father in there?” He looks at you curiously. You turn red. Siggtrygg rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “You can’t be in there with father,” He laughs at you. “He gets really cranky.” Your mouth drops, wondering if Siggtrygg is just messing with you or not. “besides, we have more than one bathroom.” He motions for you to follow him.

            You let go of the doorknob, sending a silent apology to Ivar. You repress a chuckle as you hear him groan, apparently, hearing everything Siggtrygg has said. Trapped and not knowing what to do, you follow Siggtrygg out of the bedroom and to another bathroom. Your shared bath with Ivar will just have to wait.


	18. Promise of Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Ivar get married

            The hardest part of the entire wedding planning was figuring out who’d give you away. By rights, it was your father’s duty, but you two weren’t close. Your grandfather had insisted on it, but he could barely walk two steps without nearly keeling over, and you knew he’d refuse a wheelchair. You thought about asking one of your brothers, but you didn’t want to offend the other. After about a week of agonizing over it, you settled on Siggtrygg. It was only fair; he was the catalyst to this day after all.

            This day, your wedding day. The last week had been spent feverishly preparing for every eventuality during the day, and making love to Ivar at night, who couldn’t seem to fathom spending a night without you, now that you had moved in with him. He would never admit to you this was because at night, when his doubts gnawed at him, he could simply roll over and see you, press himself to you and wash those doubts away. Last night you both managed it, as hard as it was. You woke up with the dawn to several messages from Ivar. You knew if it was up to him, you’d already be married, honeymoon over. As it stood, he managed to be patient for you.

            Looking at the room, you feel guilty. All the wedding items that surround you, your dress, your shoes, everything screamed of money. Ivar has simply spared no expense, even though you urged him to do so. When he expressed the desire to do everything right by you and give you everything you wanted, you stopped arguing. You realized that Ivar had never thought he’d get to experience getting married. It was probably the same reason he spoiled Siggtrygg. He never thought he’d have a child, and did everything in his power to make his boy happy. Now, he was doing everything in his power to make you happy.

            You didn’t get long to let the guilt gnaw at your guts. Helga knocked on the door, calling for you. “I’m up!” you tell her. For ease of it all, you stayed at Helga and Floki’s home. They didn’t have a very large house, but it was comfortable. Plus, you’d gotten to know them so well. They were the only ones that paid regular visits to Ivar. It broke your heart to think that no one else visited, but hopefully, things would change.

            Helga opens the door, smile nearly breaking her face. “How do you feel?” She asks, reaching for you. You got up and gave her a hug. “Nervous?” You say. “Excited. Wanting everything to be over with.” Helga pulled back and gave you a reassuring look. “Everything will be fine.” She says. You give her a short nod. “Everyone’s here.” She informs you, giggling. “come on, let’s start getting you ready.”

            As she moves to get your wedding dress, you take a peak outside your room. You can see your sisters and Aslaug in her living room, all looking beautiful in their own rights. “Is my mom out there?” You ask. You turn to Helga, who’s silent. You didn’t have much hope for your mother coming. When you told her that you and Ivar were getting married, she had stated that she wouldn’t watch you ruin your life. She got no argument from you. If ruination is what you got by marrying Ivar, than you welcomed it. “That’s alright,” You tell yourself. “I have you and my grandmother.”

            Helga starts and looks at you, surprised. “I um,” she begins to nervously play with the hem of your dress, eyes darting about the room. You were ready to apologize, thinking you had overstepped your boundaries. “I want to give you something,” She said quietly. “Oh, Helga, you don’t-”

“I wanted to.” She says quickly. “But, I didn’t think that it would be appropriate.” She reaches into the pocket of her robe and pulls out a ring. “I know you were trying to find something blue,” She explains. She hands you the ring. It’s gorgeous and simple, just a silver band with a turquoise stone. You look at her, tears springing to her eyes. “Helga, are you sure?” You ask her. “Of course I am. We’re family, aren’t we?” You squeal and give her another hug, tighter this time. She laughs. “Come on,” She tells you, “Let’s get everything ready.”

            As Helga helps your dress, you both chat about the day to come. Eventually, your sisters, grandmother, and Aslaug join you. All cooing over how pretty you look. Once you’re dressed, they help you with your hair and makeup. You fiddle with Helga’s ring, wondering where she’d gotten it from. It obviously meant a lot to her, to give it to you on such a big day. You vowed to take care of it, and to give it back as soon as you could. For now, you simply enjoyed everything, talking with your friends and family helped ease your fears.

            When your sister’s begin to get ready, Aslaug slips something into your hand. It’s Ivar’s letter. She gives you a smile as you thank her. You take this time to slip into the bathroom to read it. Of course, it brings tears to your eyes. Seeing so plainly his love written out for you in his neat handwriting. You had moments of self-doubt the past few months, worrying that he was only marrying you because of Siggtrygg. Worrying that Siggtrygg only liked you because of his father liked you. It was stressful, but you never dwelt on those doubts for long.

            You let out a few happy sobs, clutching the letter to your chest. That man could be so good to you sometimes. You pull yourself together, knowing full well it’s not the only time you’re going to be crying. You slip from the bathroom and rejoin the party, hardly able to wait for the moment you’re allowed to call yourself ‘Mrs. Lothbrok’.

*

            If you’re nervous, Ivar’s a wreck. He’s nearly mad with all the pent-up energy. Not having the ability to pace, he does nothing but fidget. He has read and re-read your letter so many times by now, he memorized it. You sensed, as willing as Ivar was to make your day entirely special, that he wouldn’t feel very comfortable telling everyone in a chapel how much you meant to him. Instead, you both agreed on pre-ceremony letters and traditional vows.

            In your letter, you expressed nothing but deepest love and affection for him. Assuring him that despite his legs, and his cranky disposition, despite already having an eleven-year-old boy, that this was what you wanted. Nothing would make you happier than to share the rest of your life with him. The words he read sounded genuine in his head, but there was still that niggling fear that this was all a joke.

            In fact, he figured it was the cruelest of pranks. Making him fall in so much love, and so much hope. Making him so happy, making his boy happy, only for you to get cold feet and leave him at the altar. He was sure your family was laughing at him behind his back. Even worse, are the thoughts of you marrying him for his money. You had never given him any indication that you wanted money from him. You’ve never asked for him to pay for anything, and often protested when he bought you something expensive. But you could always be a really good actress.

            He thought back to all the times you made love. Despite the pure pleasure in your face, there had been love too. You left scratches down his back sometimes, along with love bites all over his chest when things got less romantic and more carnal. That served as evidence you at least desired him.

            Not to mention all the times you looked at him with such love in your eyes. They were small moments. Cuddled up on the couch, your head in his lap, or coming home from work after a hard day and all you wanted was a hug, even when you ran after Siggtrygg, playing tag in the park, you had spared glances his way, blowing him kisses just to see him smile.

            This soothed him somewhat, but he still had to make sure. So, he sent you message after message, you replied to all of them, sometimes not right away, which sent him into a panic, but you eventually replied. The only thing able to pull him from his nervous state was Siggtrygg. The boy was excitedly running circles around everyone, whooping and hollering.

            When the time came for Siggtrygg to leave him for your wedding party, Ivar had trouble letting him go. “Dad,” Siggtrygg muttered, squirming in his father’s tight hug. Siggtrygg rarely called Ivar dad, only in moments when he was feeling embarrassed. “Sorry, Boy.” Ivar say, letting go. Ivar kisses his son’s head. “Don’t look so worried father,” Siggtrygg says smiling at him. “Before you know it, mother is going to be marching down that aisle.” Ivar gave him a weak smile as your father cleared his throat, impatient to get going. “I’ll tell her you said hi!” Siggtrygg says, rushing off to the other side of the chapel.

            Ivar’s mood only darkened after that. His brothers and yours prance about, drinking and toasting to his health and his marriage. Your grandfather sat in his wheelchair next to Ivar, quiet as a mouse. Just as everyone is getting ready to take their places, he leans in, slipping something into Ivar’s hand. “If my Baby Bird didn’t want to marry you, she wouldn’t have said yes.” He reassures. He’s then wheeled off by your brother. Ivar looks at the object your grandfather gave him. It was a coin. He slipps it into his pocket, deciding to puzzle over it later. He wanted to get this humiliation done with as soon as possible.

            He vaguely remembers taking position in front of the priest. There’s a chair for him, but he’s determined to at least stand for you when you walk in. _If_ you walk in. He feels his father clap his back, hears Ubbe’s words of encouragement, but register’s none of this. To him, it feels as though hours crawl by as he stands and waits for your inevitable rejection. His palms are moist, and his knuckle are white from the death grip he’s got on his crutches. He refuses to look at anyone, to look up to see all the pity in their faces. He misses your wedding party walk through the hall and take their place. Misses the ring bearer. Misses the flower girl.

            Just as he thinks he’s going to lose his mind, the music starts up. His head snaps to the doors, watches them open, and sees you walk through them. His mouth drops and tears momentarily blur your image. He blinks them away. He wants nothing more than to fall to your feet and weep. His breath catches in his throat. You hadn’t run, you accepted him for everything that he was. Everyone was looking at you, gasping at how beautiful you were. Marveling at your simple, but elegant dress. Muttering how cute it was, letting Siggtrygg walk you down the aisle.

            You? You only had eyes for him. You were smiling, happy tears streaming down your face. The love is so plainly in your eyes; it banishes all doubts. Ivar’s impatience returns. He wants you here, next to him, now, so he can at least grasp your hands and reassure himself you aren’t a dream.

            His heart stops, as Siggtrygg and you stand in front of him. Siggtrygg clears his throat. “Father?” Ivar looks at his boy, wondering what on earth he could possibly have to say. “I like this one, a lot. Don’t fuck this up.” Everyone snickers as Ivar gives him a mock glare. “Get over there Boy,” He growls, smiling.

            You take your place in front of Ivar, he hands his crutches away, not even bothering to feel insecure that he needs to sit in the first place. As you take his hands in yours, he feels warmth spread through him. This is happening, he’s getting married, you’re going to say ‘I do’.

Later, if you ask him if he remembers anything, he’ll answer honestly. No, he doesn’t remember a damn thing. Just you, standing in front of him with all your beauty, looking at him through tears. He remembers you, and those final words of “I do.” He doesn’t remember slipping the ring on your finger, doesn’t even remember the thunderous cheers as he yanks you to him, for your first kiss as husband and wife. Just you, your kiss, and the promise of forever.


	19. Positive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're feeling a little ill these day, Siggtrygg convinces you to see a doctor.

            You take in deep breaths, trying to quell the nausea wreacking havoc on your belly. There’s a soft knock on the door. “Mother?”

“Yes Siggtrygg?”

“Are you alright?” He asks, opening the door. You give him the best smile you can. “You’ve been sick for two weeks now.”

“I’m fine.” You tell him, getting up. He looks at you, unconvinced. “I got you some water.” He says, holding out a bottle. You take it. You flush the toilet and rinse your mouth before you open it and take large gulps. Siggtrygg grabs your hand. “Mother? Will you go to the clinic? Please?”

“I don’t need the clinic.” You tell him. You brush back his hair, marveling at how much he’s grown in the last two years. At thirteen, he looks so much like Ivar, there’s no doubt who his father is. “It’s Father’s Day, we need to get everything ready.” This year, you managed to convince Ivar to host Father’s Day in his home. He was a father after all. It had been surprisingly easy to get everyone else on board. “Mother, it’s still early enough, you can get checked out and then be back in time for the party. Besides, everything is perfect.” It was true, everything had been set up for the day. Banners up, dining table set. You had caterer’s coming, so it wasn’t like you had to cook.

            You’re ready to argue, he stops you. “Mom, please?” He squeezes your hand. “Alright,” You kiss his forehead, wondering how soon it will be until you have to stand on tip toe to reach him. “Thank you.” He says, rushing from the bathroom. You quickly brush your teeth and meet him at the door. The keys are already in his hands.

            On the way to the clinic, Siggtrygg begins to ask you questions. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know.” You respond. “Do you have any other symptoms?”

“Just the vomiting.”

“Nothing at all though? No fever, no headache?”

“None, just really odd cravings now and then.” He’s silent. “You know what else is really weird?” He asks. “Hm?” You say, paying more attention to the road than anything else. “It only happens in the mornings. It’s like, some weird mornings sickness.” When it hits you, you slam on the brakes. Siggtrygg lets out a yelp and hangs on for dear life. He looks at you, panicking. “What is it? Are you dying? Mom?” He shakes you. “I need a minute.” You gasp, unbuckling your seat belt and getting out of the car. Siggtrygg follows you. Luckily, the road isn’t busy today, so you aren’t causing any traffic. “Mom? Mom, you’re scaring me.” He says, rounding the car.

            He finds you on the side of the road, bent over and breathing deeply. Mumbling to yourself about ‘this not happening’ whatever ‘this’ was. He puts a hand on your back. “Please tell me you aren’t dying.” He whispers. You grab for him, needing to be grounded. “I’m not dying,” you reassure him. “Then what? What is it?”

“I think I’m pregnant.” You finally say. You’re still breathing as Siggtrygg is silent. You look at him, worried. He’s been Ivar’s only child for thirteen years, how is he going to take it? How is Ivar going to take it? You never talked about having children. Working on the assumption Ivar didn’t want another baby, you had just continued with your birth control. It could fail after two years, could it?

            Siggtrygg’s face lights up and he begins his characteristic dance of joy. “What are we waiting for?!” He says, grabbing your arm. “Come on! Come on!” He pulls you towards the car. You slide in, not sure how to feel about it. It could be just a fluke; the sickness might be because of food poisoning. Cravings, who didn’t get cravings every now and then? You grip the steering wheel hard all the way to the convenience store, clinic now having been forgotten.

            The store you enter is one you’ve shopped at countless times for midnight snacks. The clerk knew you well. “Hello Mrs. Lothbrok!” He calls as you rush by the counter. “Hey Al!” You reply. You and Siggtrygg stop in front of the pregnancy tests, clutching each other in excitement. “Which one do we pick?” He asks, looking at all the brands. “I don’t know.” You answer honestly. “I’ve never been pregnant before.” Siggtrygg nods. After a few moments deliberation, he says, “Well, in science, you need multiple tests for a hypothesis so your conclusion is strong, so…” You look at him, he’s smiling at you awkwardly, completely out of his depth.

            Reading each other’s minds, you both get an armful of the tests. Scrambling towards the bathroom. “Um? Mrs. Lothbrok?” Al calls. “I’ll pay for it later.” You reassure him, holding the door open, you and Siggtrygg stack the tests on the sink. You look at it all. “I need a cup.” You tell him. “Why?”

“To put them all in.” He frowns, looking at you. “Mother, I don’t think you can make enough spit to fill a cup.” You stare at him, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. “Oh honey,” You say, bringing him into a hug. “Never change.” You kiss him, “But go get me a cup.” You turn him around and send him off to his task. You begin to open the pregnancy boxes. Al watches you curiously. You point to him. “You tell no one until tomorrow.” You hiss. He holds his hands up. “No problem Mrs. L.” He continues to watch you with mild interest. Siggtrygg comes back with a bag of plastic cups. Opening it, he gives one to you. “Thank you.” You mutter, closing the door. “Wait, I want to see!” He says, knocking on it. “Siggtrygg, no.” You tell him.

“But mother!” As you steel yourself for what you’re about to do, you hear Al ask Siggtrygg if he knows how pregnancy tests work. Siggtrygg is silent for the explanation. You can’t help but giggle at the “That’s so disgusting!” that comes from Siggtrygg when he finally learns how the tests work.

            You wash your hands and pace the bathroom, wishing the tests didn’t take so long. There’s a knock on the door. “Mother?”

“Just a moment Sigg,” You call. “We have to wait.” You hear him groan through the thin door. It seems as though hours crawl by as you wait for the five minutes to be up. Your phone goes off and you scramble for the tests. Looking each one over, you begins to whisper, “Oh my god,” all of them are positive. “Oh my god. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant.” You wrench open the door and throw yourself at your son. “I’m pregnant!” You squeal. “I’m pregnant!” Siggtrygg laughs, returning your tight hug. “You’re pregnant!” In an uncharacteristic show of strength, he picks you up and spins you. “You’re pregnant, I’m going to be a big brother!” You pull apart, laughing and crying a little. “Um, Mrs. L?” Al says, interrupting the moment. You look at him, a little annoyed. “I’m happy for you and all, but,” He points to the cup filled with tests. “You aren’t going to make me clean that up, are you?” You huff, trying not to laugh. “No Al,” you say. “I’m not.”


	20. Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You reveal your pregnancy to Ivar and his family.

            Ivar is worried. You and Siggtrygg are late to your own party. It’s not like you. Usually, if you plan something, you are there to oversee everything from begging to end. Whether it was a small family get together to a business dinner. To have you not ever present for over half the party?

            Hvitserk makes an ill-timed joke about you stepping out on him, but Ivar knows you didn’t do that. After two years of marriage, you both still desired each other as much as you had in the early days of your relationship. There’s no way you walked out on him, especially not with Siggtrygg. As he sits, worrying for you and your son, his family talks around him, enjoying the good food and hospitality.

            Ivar is just about to call you when you rush in. Siggtrygg trailing behind you. You’re both carrying an incredible number of gifts. “Sorry I’m late,” You say breathlessly, passing them out. “I was getting last minute gifts and got carried away.”

“You’re never last minute with anything.” Hvtiserk says, taking his gift. “I know, I know, Siggtrygg insisted.” Ivar watches the secret look between you two. “You could’ve told me where you were,” He said. “I was worried.”

“Don’t worry father!” Siggtrygg says as you both hand out the last of your gifts. “It’ll be worth it, we promise.”

            Siggtrygg is back at your side, you’re both positively burning with energy. “Where’s Ivar’s gift?” Aslaug asks. “Ivar will get his gift later,” you say. “Why can’t I get my gift now.”

“Father, bear with us.” Siggtrygg begs. He gives a huff. He doesn’t like it when you keep secrets from him, and this was obviously a big one. Everyone hesitantly opens their gifts. Everyone looks at each other, confused. It’s just shirts. Various, ‘I’m an Uncle’ or ‘I’m a grandpa’ on it. Ivar looks to you and Siggtrygg, you’re both beaming, nearly vibrating with the amount of excitement you’re trying very hard to contain. That’s when it hits him. “Oh my God.” He reaches out for you, and you nod, knowing he’s figured it out. “Oh my God, you’re-” He can’t get the words out. “Mother’s pregnant!” Siggtrygg yells at the top of his lungs.

            It takes a moment, but the whole room erupts into cheers. “I’m going to be a father!” Ivar yells, cheering with everyone else. “I’m going to be a father!” Ubbe claps him on the back, kissing his cheek. You’re being picked up into hugs by Hvitserk and Sigurd. Siggtrygg is spinning Ragnar in circles.

            Eventually you make your way over to Ivar, who brings you into a searing kiss and the tightest hug you’ve ever received. You return it. When you pull apart, there are tears in his eyes. “Are you really pregnant?” he asks, face so full of hope, so full of wonder. “Yes,” You say, kissing him. “Yes, I am.” You wipe away the few tears that escape. “I love you,” He says. “I love you so much.”

*

            You can’t help the giggle that comes forth as Ivar kisses your bare belly for the umpteenth time. You run your hands through his hair and he rubs his nose lightly against your skin. “Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” He asks you. “I think it’s a baby.” You say unhelpfully.  He huffs and gives you a glare. “I think it will look like you.” He says, placing more kisses on your belly. “I hope it looks like you. You’re the most beautiful and amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

            He rests his cheek on your belly, sighing contentedly. Soon, you begin to doze, but Ivar keeps you from slumber. “What will we name it?”

“Think Siggtrygg will be upset if we name it Ivar Jr.?”

“Be serious, love, this is our first child.” You frown and sit up on your elbows. His resting place disturbed, Ivar looks at you. “What?” He asks. “You said first child.” You pointed out. You saw the very rare occurrence of insecurity flash before Ivar. He avoids your gaze. He takes a long time to speak. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to presume-”

“Ivar, do you want more children?” He settles back down again, hands rubbing across your belly. “I do,” He admits. “I thought Siggtrygg was a fluke, just lucky happenstance. Then you happened, and I thought, maybe I’ll get the family I’ve always wanted. And then, two years went by with nothing to show for it. I just thought it wasn’t meant to be.” You groan, flopping back in the bed. “What?” He says, raising his head. “Ivar, I love you,” You tell him. “But we need to learn to communicate better.”

“What’s wrong with our communication.” You peek at him. Putting a hand on his cheek, you rub your thumb over his lips. “If I had known you wanted children, I would’ve stopped taking my birth control. I could be pregnant with our second child by now, not our first.” Ivar matches your earlier groan and flops over. “Why are we like this?” He asks. “What are you talk about?” You tease. “We’re perfect.”


	21. Gender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go to the clinic to find out the gender of the baby.

            Ivar and Siggtrygg were nearly out the door when you came waddling as fast as you towards them. “Wait! Wait!” You called, waving at them wildly. “We’re late, my love. Siggtrygg-”

“This is more important.” You tell Ivar, grabbing his hand. Siggtrygg’s was next. You hold both their hands to your bump. “Mother, we know you’re pregnant.”

“Hush.” You tell him, smiling. They stand there for a few minutes, not sure what the deal was. Ivar was getting ready to remind you they had to leave to get to school on time, but Siggtrygg yelps and jerks his hand back. You chuckle. Ivar begins to removed his hand, but you don’t let him. That’s when he feels it. A slight thump against his palm. His mouth drops as he looks to you, you’re positively beaming. “It moved!” Siggtrygg says, putting both his hands on your belly. Ivar is momentarily jealous. He wants to put both hands on your belly, but he needs one to hold himself up on his crutch. There is another soft thump.

            “So it moves,” He says quietly. “And there is no pain?” There had been pain when his mother was pregnant with him. You lean to kiss him. “No, husband, there is no pain. And it moves about all the time, you and Siggtrygg have just yet to feel it.”

“When will be able to stop calling it ‘it’?” Siggtrygg asks, finally removing his hands from your belly. The baby has stopped moving for now. “Later today.” You explain. “Helga and Floki will take me to the clinic to get an ultrasound.”

“Will that show if the baby is alright?” You grab Ivar’s face in your hands. “Love,” You tell him, “If the baby turns out like you, then there is no shame in it.”

“Yeah father,” Siggtrygg says, nudging him. “Look how well you turned out. Billions in the bank, the most handsome son,” You both laugh as Siggtrygg preens for a moment. “And the best wife a man could ask for.” Ivar huffs and turns his son around, pushing him towards the car. “We are late, Boy.” Siggtrygg merely laughs. “I will try to make it.” He says. You kiss him again. “I know you will. But it’s not your fault you’re the smartest son Ragnar has.” You give you goodbye and shut the door tightly behind you.

*

            Ivar can tell the men in front of him are nervous. Rightly so, for the glare he had on his face could turn metal to ash. Of course, this meant the men went slowly with their presentation, stuttering through their proposal. “Oh, get out of my office!” He snarls. They jump up. “Come back when you have your shit together. I have no time today for you imbeciles.” The men rushed out of the room without much protest, shutting the door behind them.

            His brothers are looking at him, wary. “What’s crawled up your ass today?” Hvitserk asks. Before Ivar could tell him to shut up, his secretary walks in. “Yes?” He snaps. “I was just going to remind you, Mrs. Lothbrok’s ultrasound is in an hour.”

“What makes you think I’ve forgotten about my own wife’s ultrasound?” He growls. His secretary gives him a tight-lipped look of disapproval. One of the reasons he even hired her was because she only took so much shit from him. “Well, you seemed to have forgotten to clear your schedule.” She sniffs. “Is that why you’ve been so cranky?” Ubbe asked, clapping him on the back. “We can handle the rest, go be with your wife.” Ivar looks at him. “Says the man that was cheated out of nearly a hundred thousand last time he tried to take charge of the proposals.” Ubbe gives an awkward chuckle. “You have no more meetings today,” His secretary said, eager to get on with it. “I thought I was booked today.” Ivar stares at her warily as she smiles. “I cleared them last week for you.”

            Normally, Ivar would be mad she had gone behind his back and cleared his schedule. But today, all he could do was thank her. She let out a happy titter when he even kissed her cheek. Ivar couldn’t get to his car fast enough. He looked at his watch, perhaps he has time to make a quick stop.

*

            You were so happy that both Floki and Helga were there with you. Your heart was trying to escape your ribcage, and holding their hands for dear life was comforting. You could see why Ivar had relied on them so much with Siggtrygg. They were always present in your home, always ready to drop everything and run to your aide. When you first told them, Helga wasted no time in making a nursey in her own home for the new baby. “Just in case you need a break.” She explained, looking at you with pride in her eyes.

            “What will you do with the nursery?” Helga leans in and asks. You shrug. “I don’t know.” You tell her honestly. “Ivar and I haven’t talked about it really.” You squeeze Floki’s hand. “I’d like a rocking chair though.” You tell him. “Of course!” He says, kissing your forehead. “And the crib, and the rattle, and anything else you need.” You give him a wide smile. “Can I ask a favor? Another one?” You feel a little guilty for being so specific with him. “What is it little one?”

“Do you think you could make it out of the proposal arch?” You ask. Floki looks at you twinkle in his eye. “Two years and you still have that thing?” You smile sheepishly. “I’m sentimental. It’s not every day you get proposed to by the man of your dreams.” Helga sighs, giving Floki a loving look. “No, it isn’t, is it?”

            He goes red and turns form you both, but keeps his hand in yours. You’re ready to tease him when you see two familiar faces walk through the door. You stand, feeling elation run through you. “Mother!” Siggtrygg calls, running up to you and throwing his arms around you. “What are you doing here?” You ask, kissing the top of his head. You look at Ivar. “I managed to get my schedule cleared.” He says, joining your group. Siggtrygg lets go of you to hug Floki and Helga. You and Ivar kiss. “I thought, this is a big deal and all, Siggtrygg should be here too.”

            “I’m glad you both could make it.” You say. Before you all can take your seats, you hear “Mrs. Lothbrok?” You turn and look to the nurse. “Well,” you say, “We’re up.” Siggtrygg grabs your hand and you lead him and Ivar to the back rooms.

            The technician that sees you is a sweet woman, only a few years older than you. She explains the procedure while her assistant gets a chair for Ivar. He settles next to and grabs your hand. He’s nervous. Today you could find out a little more about your child. You knew Ivar’s biggest concern was the baby’s legs. No matter how you or Siggtrygg reassured him, he still worried.  

            You watch the screen as the image pops up. You left your first ultrasound for a long time, so instead of seeing a dot on the screen, you see a vague outline of a baby in a pouch. The baby is lying on the bottom of the pouch. While a white mass is above it. Ivar sees it the same time you do. He squeezes your hand as you shoot him a worried look. “This is wonderful!” the technician said. “You’re having twins!”


	22. Alva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siggtrygg helps you with names.

            You were leaning against Ivar, his chest to your back. He was propped up on pillows to make the position more comfortable. Your shirt was over your belly as Ivar rubbed lotion on it. Siggtrygg was next to you, reading his new book. Everything was peaceful, you’d never felt more contented in your life. “And we still don’t know the gender of the babies?” Siggtrygg asks, disrupting the silence. “No, we don’t. They’re tricky and like to hide.” You say. “Do you even have names picked out?” Siggtrygg flops over, looking at you. “A few.”

            He takes a long hard look at your belly. Ivar’s hands have stilled now. His job for the night is done, he’s dozing. “One of them is going to be a girl.” Siggtrygg says prophetically. “And you should name her Alva. “What makes you so sure it’s going to be a girl?” Ivar asks, amused. “Just a feeling.” Siggtrygg says. He gets up from his spot and stretches. “I’m going to bed,” He announces. He leans over and kisses you and Ivar on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Good night.” You and Ivar say at the same time. The moment he shuts your door, Ivar is mouthing at your neck. You giggle. “Ivar, really?” You say, trying to shrug him off. “What?” He mumbles, making his way up to your ear. He gives you a tiny lick around the shell of it. “This is the third time today.”

“I can’t help that I have the most beautiful wife in the entire world.” He mutters, he bites the junction between neck and shoulder and you let out a moan. “She’s the most desirable, amazing woman I’ve ever met.” His hands slip from around your belly to underneath it, trying to get at the ties of your pants. “Even more desirable now that she’s pregnant, hm?” You tease. Ivar’s hand slips into your panties and gets to work. These days, a look is more than enough to get you going. It seems you were lucky. Pregnancy sex felt great for you, better than regular sex. Apparently, it was the same for Ivar, nearly every day he’s had his hands all over you. Sometimes, three, four times a day.

            “It’s proof Siggtrygg wasn’t a fluke.” He mumbles, teasing your clit. You gasp and press against him, it’s already too much for you. “Ivar,” You moan, gripping his forearm, “Ivar stop.” He does so, pulling away from your immediately. “Is everything ok?” He’s too afraid to move. “Everything is fine, just a little too intense is all.” You admit. He relaxes. “Here, lay on your side.”

            He helps you, ever gentle in his movements. He makes sure to place a pillow under your belly to help with the pressure. When you’re settled he begins to trail kisses along your shoulder as he frees himself of his pants. “I’ll go slow, my love.” He promises. You chuckle. “I’m pregnant fool, not fragile.” He bites your shoulder rather hard. It’s going to leave a mark, one of the few he’s ever left that will be visible no matter what you wear.

            He positions himself behind you, slipping in with ease. Your groans match each other. He props himself up on one elbow, and wraps his free arm around your waist. He’s true to his word and goes slow. You don’t mind, you’ll last longer this way. “I want more children.” He says. “Ivar, I can’t get pregnant while I’m pregnant.”

“You know what I meant.” He’s running kisses along your neck and it’s driving you wild. “What if I don’t want anymore children?”

“Then we don’t have anymore.” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Just like that?” He gives you’re a particularly hard snap of his hips. You let out a grunt, gripping the sheets in pleasure. Ivar stops for a moment. His grip on your shirt is white knuckled. You turn to look at him. “What?” You ask. You can see him clenching and unclenching his jaw. “Is everything ok?”

“It’s hard not to just fuck you.” He admits. “Ivar, I told you, I’m pregnant, not fragile.” He looks at you, brows furrowed together. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt them.” His hand rubs your belly. “You won’t.” You promise. “Besides, I sort of need you to fuck me.”

“My love-”

“It’s been eight months Ivar, you’ve taken good care of me, but sometimes, a wife just needs her husband to take her.”

            Ivar groans and pulls away from you. “Stay on your side.” He orders when you begin to chase him back to bed. You do as your told. He shifts so that he’s hovering over you. You move to get into the missionary position, but he stops you. He’s smiling. “This will be new.” He says, leaning to give you a kiss. You return it, rather excited. Ivar lines himself up and presses inside you. He takes a moment to place his hands on the headboard, not wanting to put too much pressure on you. Once situated, he pulls out and slams into you. You have difficulty keeping your shout contained. He gives a few more experimental thrusts, wanting to see if he could actually hurt you or the twins. Finally figuring he can be rough, he sets a brutal pace.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” He asks through gritted teeth. “To fuck my wife knowing she’s pregnant with my child? My children?” You can do nothing but grip the sheets in pleasure. “Do you realize how much my desire for you has grown? Every day I want nothing more than to rip the clothes from your body and take you.” You let out a whimper, orgasm close.

            It takes no time at all for Ivar’s thrusting to become erratic. He allows one of his hands to let go of its vice like grip on the headboard and runs it through your hair. You can’t bother to crack open an eye and look at him, but you know he has the most adoring look on his face. He tenses, growling as he comes. The hand running through your hair stops in favor of grabbing a handful of your locks. He tugs at them gently, there is no pain, but there is force behind it that helps you over the edge. You clamp a hand over your mouth to keep the scream down.

            Ivar can do nothing but grunt and growl as he helps you ride out your pleasure. You can feel him shake with the force of his own orgasm. He really needed this. You endeavor to remember to have him get rough with you more often.

            When he’s done, Ivar collapses next to you. You’re unwilling to move to lay on his chest, enjoying the afterglow too much. Good thing Ivar has no problems with his motor skills. He presses himself close to you, wrapping you up protectively in his arms. “My love?” He asks quietly. “Hm?” You say, wanting nothing more than to sleep. “I think I like the name Alva.” You chuckle. “Yes,” You say. “I like the name Alva too.”


	23. The Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar makes a vow to be the best father he can for the twins.

            Ivar could do nothing but stare at the two bassinets in front of him. It was an overwhelming feeling being a father again. This time, to two perfect, healthy little girls. He watched their breathing, assuring himself they were alive, this was real. He wanted nothing more than to hold both of them to his chest, but he couldn’t situate them on his own, so he settled for placing his large hand across their bodies to reassure himself even further everything was real.

            The entirety of his hand encompassed them, that’s how tiny they were. He had met Siggtrygg a few days after his birth, Ivar couldn’t remember him being so small. Then again, the doctor had warned him they would be smaller than an average baby. It was just the way of twins. It didn’t matter to him how small they were, they were perfection.

            He looks over to you. You’re sleeping, mouth hanging open, snoring softly. He can’t blame you. After nine months of making two lives, and nearly three days in labor, you were exhausted. It’s ridiculous how in love with you he is, how proud of you he is. He spends forever mapping a face he knows well, marveling at your perfection. He has to admit to himself, he already wants to put another baby in you, but he’ll wait. Besides, having twins is going to keep you both very busy.

            The door to your room begins to open. Ivar is ready to kill whoever it is coming through it. He told the nurses to give you at least three hours of sleep. A familiar mop of black hair pops in his face softens. “Boy,” He hisses. Siggtrygg’s gaze snaps to his father. They can’t help the large grins that overcome their features. Siggtrygg slips into the room and pads softly over to Ivar. “You aren’t supposed to be in here.” Ivar says, still smiling. Siggtrygg shrugs. “I couldn’t wait to meet my sister,” He says, looking down at one of the babies. His gaze shifts over to the other one. “And my…” He pauses. The blankets the nurses have given them in no way indicate their gender.  One child is wrapped in yellow, the other in white.

            “This is Ylva,” Ivar whispers, motioning to the one in yellow. “And this is Alva.” He motions to the one in white. Siggtrygg’s grin only gets bigger. He leans over each bassinet, kissing their foreheads. “Hi Ylva,” He says. “Hi Alva, I’m your big brother. Welcome to the family.”

            The two stay there in silence, marveling at the girls. Eventually Siggtrygg asks, “Can I hold one?” Ivar nearly says no, nearly, but reminds him Siggtrygg has wanted siblings as long as Ivar wanted more children. “Sit,” Ivar orders. Siggtrygg does as asked and sits in the chair next to his father. Ivar picks Alva up, the child not even stirring, and hands her to her brother. He watches Siggtrygg like a hawk as he handles his sister.

            Siggtrygg makes himself comfortable with Alva. He’s gentle with her. “They don’t look very much like mother, do they?” He asks. “No,” Ivar admits, finally tearing his gaze away from his son. He’s satisfied Siggtrygg won’t drop her. He takes advantage of the situation and picks Ylva out of her basinet. Like her sister, if she notices, she doesn’t give any indication.

            He leans back and situates the tiny thing on his chest. He sends a silent vow into the universe, the same one he sent when he spent his first night with Siggtrygg. He’d protect his children at all costs. He would kill for them, die for them. Make sure they wanted for nothing. Despite his shortcomings, he would be the best father. He looked back at you, smiling. He’d be the best husband too.


	24. Changes

            Ubbe had to admit, he was amazed at the transformation his brother’s house had gone through. Ivar Lothbrok’s home had once looked like it had been taken directly from a home style magazine for the rich. Every surface glittered, nothing was ever out of place. If you didn’t know any better, stepping into the house you would’ve thought it was a museum.

            Today told a different story. The walls were now decorated with macaroni art, drawing clearly done by a child, and various snapshots of Ivar’s family. The furniture was no longer black and sleek but multicolored and comfortable. Here and there were children’s toys, oddly place but neatly out of the way. It was a lived-in home now, complete with naked, screaming four-year-olds.

            As he stepped into the kitchen, a little girl ran past him, screaming with joy. Siggtrygg was right behind her, a towel in his hand. “Alva, wait!” He called, not even bothering to welcome his uncle. Ubbe turns to look at you. You were smiling while decorating your cake. “Ivar is in the girls’ room.” You tell him. Ubbe nods and moves on.

            Ubbe stops at the threshold of the room, painted in soft pastels of pink and purple. Ivar was sitting on the ground, legs in front of him. Ubbe tried his hardest not to laugh at the sight. Ivar was wearing a feather boa and a princess crown, complete with sloppily placed makeup and bandages around his head and arms.

            Ivar doesn’t notice his brother standing at the door, which was just fine by Ubbe. The Eldest Lothbrok enjoyed watching the youngest interact with his children. That’s when Ubbe realized, it wasn’t just the house that changed, it was Ivar himself.

            Ylva pressed a plastic stethoscope to Ivar’s forehead, a look of utter focus on her face. The look on Ivar’s was complete joy as he played along. “Well?” He asks, “Will I live?” Ylva presses his face between her tiny hands. “It’s not good.” She tells him gravely. “Oh? It’s a good thing I’ve come to the best doctor in the universe, then isn’t it?” Ivar says. Ylva giggles and let’s go of her father’s face.

“I’ll save you daddy,” she declares, puffing out her chest. “I have a magic potion.” Ivar chuckles, watching as his daughter bounds across the room to fetch said potion. She makes a grand show of it, throwing a bunch of toys to the ground dramatically, making sure he isn’t peaking. Then, she whips around and holds a plastic bottle up. It was half filled with a green liquid and little specks floating around in there.

            Ubbe can’t help but smile as panic floods Ivar’s eyes. He knew that drink well. It was green apple flavored and contained sprinkles. The sprinkles weren’t the problem. It was the drink itself. Ivar hated green apple anything, especially the fruit. If Ubbe wasn’t so thoroughly enjoying himself, he would’ve interrupted then, as it was, he wanted to see how this would play out.

            Just as Ylva is handing the drink to her father, Alva came screeching into the room, now clothed. “Daddy, daddy, save me!” She says, crashing into Ivar. Ubbe steps back as Siggtrygg stomps into the room. “Argh!” He growls. “I’m a big nasty bear, come to gobble up little girls.” Both girls scream. Ylva rushes to her father for protection. Ivar has his arms wrapped around them, trying his very hardest not to laugh.

            You walk into the room though, a laundry basket filled with clothes. “You’re going to have to get gobbled up later, my dears.” You say, placing the basket at the end of one tiny bed. “We have to get ready for big brother’s graduation, remember?” The girls ‘aw’, but pull themselves away from Ivar.

            Ubbe finally makes eye contact with Ivar, who’s still smirking, looking every bit as ridiculous as one can with makeup smeared all over his face. He doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. Ubbe gives him a returning smile and walks back down the hall to help you in the kitchen.

*

            Ivar is trying to get Ylva to stay still, but she isn’t having it. Too busy playing with a doll, she doesn’t seem to care that Ivar is trying to put her hair up. “Little Ylva,” Ivar says, putting his hands on his shoulders. “You must sit still so your father can put your hair in pretty braids.” Ylva huffs. “But daddy,” she whines. “Princess Vanilla Cake is in trouble! I have to plan with my army to save her!” Ivar chuckles. “Just give me a few moments, General Ylva,” He says. She huffs, muttering, “Fine.”

            Ivar makes quick work of Ylva’s hair. By now, he was used to putting the twins’ hair up. Before they even had hair, he was determined to practice. The only woman that was ever constantly in his house was you, so you were his victim. Even after four years, he still brushed your hair every night and braded if for bed.

            When he’s finished, he ties it with a ribbon that matches her dress. “Alright general, you’re all done, go get your sister for me.” He kisses her hair and she leaps off his lap. “Alva!” She yells, running off. It only takes a few minutes for Alva to run into the bedroom and scramble into his lap. “Don’t make it look like Sissy’s.” She said, looking grave. “I won’t.” Ivar promises.

            Alva’s hair takes a little longer. It’s thicker than Ylva’s and hates to cooperate. Alva, unlike her sister, sits very still for Ivar. When he’s done, he places a kiss to her hair as well. She too hops off his lap and runs off to play. You walk into the room, looking every bit as beautiful as the day he met you. “Can you believe it?” You say, going to the closet to get ready. You’re usually the last person dressed. Thankfully, you’ve gotten your routine down so well it won’t take you long. “Our little Siggtrygg is graduating.”

            You pull out a blue dress, the one you’ve been saving just for this occasion. “It’s hard to believe eight years have passed.” You mutter. “Yeah,” Ivar agrees, watching you dress. He feels that same stirring in his gut he always feels whenever you’re getting ready. Even after eight years Ivar’s desire for you hasn’t abated.

            “Soon, he’ll be off to college, then he’ll be married, then we’ll be grandparents.” Ivar chuckles. “Let’s not move too fast,” He says. “The boy has to find a woman first.” You look at him thoughtfully. “Or a man,” Ivar says. “I don’t care which.”

“I just don’t want him turning into his father.” You admit. Ivar purses his lips. “And what’s wrong with his father?”

“His father was a bitter old man in a young man’s body.” You tease. Ivar grunted, watching you carefully slip on your dress. “It’s a good thing his teacher decided to have a conference with me.” You smirk, and sit next to him. “Very good,” You say, giving him a peck. As you pull back, Ivar chases you, not content with just a simple peck on the lips. He yanks you into his lap, enjoying your squeal. You moan into his lips as he kisses you hungrily. “I want another baby,” He says, pulling back. You look at him, worrying your lip. “I’ll think about it,” you tell him honestly. He nods, gives you on last peck, and lets you finish getting ready.

*

            Looking at Ivar and his family, Ubbe feels happy for his brother. Siggtrygg has grown into a fine young man. The boy looks every bit like his father. Same strong jaw, same piercing blue eyes. You’d be hard pressed to figure out which was the son and which was the father if you didn’t already know. Ivar’s girls were beautiful children as well. They also looked every bit like their father.

            He was envious. Out of all the Lothbrok’s, Ivar was the only one who managed to have children. It wasn’t for lack of trying on anybody’s side. Ubbe was just beginning to think children weren’t in a part of his future. Maybe there was something wrong with him. He pushed those thoughts out of his head. This moment was not the time to think about it. This moment was the time to celebrate. It wasn’t everyday your oldest nephew graduated high school.

            They’re all out in the driveway, posing for picture after picture. Everyone is there to take turns. Aslaug, Hvitserk, Sigurd, Floki and Helga, even Rollo and his family had flown from France to celebrate the day.

            Still, Ubbe can’t help but think back to eight years ago. It was incredible how much had changed. It’s plain to see how happy Ivar is. His smiles come easier, his laughter is louder, his angry outbursts were infrequent. These were changes no one ever thought would come. Even so, they did, and change was always welcome.


	25. Furious

            Ivar really, really wants another baby. Maybe it was because Siggtrygg had finally moved out to attend college. Maybe it was because Ylva and Alva were going to start grade school soon. The reason behind it didn’t matter, he just knew he wanted one. The only thing standing in his way was you.

You haven’t said anything since he mentioned it months ago. In fact, his sex life had completely stopped after that. He was frustrated by it. More than wanting another baby, he wanted you. He’d come accustomed to his cock sheathing itself inside of you almost nightly. What’s making matters worse, you were completely rejecting all of his advances, even simple hand holding.

            He missed you, he missed his best friend, but he didn’t want to push you either. The last thing he wanted to do was make you do something your heart wasn’t in. No matter how much the lack of physical contact frustrated him.

That’s why he was so surprised when he woke up one morning to find you’d snuggled up to him in the middle of the night. It was summer, so you both were as underdressed as possible. In Ivar’s case, he was wearing nothing but underwear, you were wearing a thin, short nightgown. There were many places where your skin touched his.

            He silences a groan and wraps you in his arms. There was no telling how long he’d be able to keep you this close. You grunted in your sleep and shifted, your leg coming to curl around his. He swallowed another groan, feeling pathetic at how aroused he was. He moved, trying to get comfortable. Your inner thigh was pressing against his cock, and it wasn’t doing him any favors.

            Eventually you settle, and he’s able to think about something else entirely. His erection dissipates, and he can now enjoy simply holding you. A few strands of hair have slipped from your braid, he pushed them behind your ear. Looking at your face, his heart begins to ache. Had it really been nearly ten years since he had a simple meeting with you about his son?

            He grew frustrated once again. What had he done to push you away? What had he said? Why did he have to resort to holding you close to him while you slept? He wracked his brains trying to figure it out. A horrifying thought came over him. You had found someone else. Subconsciously, he held you tighter.

            It was entirely plausible. You were a gorgeous woman. Every time he brought you to an office party, men and women alike couldn’t keep their eyes off you. He overheard many people whisper lewd things about you behind your back. It gave him an overwhelming sense of satisfaction to show you off. It was proof Ivar the angry cripple had everything he wanted. But now, it seemed, everything he ever wanted would be taken from him.

            He tells that intrusive little voice to shut the hell up. Ivar was certain of many things, and your love for him was one. The proof was in your actions. You took care of him like you always had. Making sure he was up on time for work. Cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Rubbing his legs when they hurt. This was simply a rough patch, was all. He just needed to talk to you about it.

            He’s just beginning to doze when you grunt in your sleep. He cracks open an eye to look at you. You’re adorable lying there, scrubbing sleep from one eye. He places a quick kiss to your hair, knowing the moment you wake up, you’re going to pull away from him as though he was ill.

            You open your eyes to look at him, smiling gently. His heart aches for you again. He longs to press his lips to yours, even for just a moment, but her remains still. He wants to keep you close for as long as possible. You prop yourself up on an elbow and lean in to kiss him. Ivar doesn’t resist. Soon enough, things turn heated.

            Ivar rolls you on your back, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You open for him, wrapping your arms around him as he explores your mouth. He moans as you run your hands through his hair, scraping his scalp with your fingernails. He’s reluctant to break the kiss, but he needs air. He settles for kissing along your jaw, to you ear lobe. He takes it and nibbles it, closing his eyes and savoring the moan the escapes you. He grinds his hips into yours, you return the favor.

            Taking this as a positive sign, his hand begins to slip down your body. Giving your clothed breast a squeeze, you let out another moan. His hand stills at your thigh, this is the farthest he’s gotten with you in months. Maybe you had just gotten tired of his aggressiveness in bed, all you needed was a gentler touch. As his hand slips up your leg, he vows to give you the gentleness you deserve.

            He’s just about to slip his hand into your panties when you push on his shoulder. “Ivar stop,” You whisper. He rolls off you immediately, frustrated. Looking at the ceiling, he asks you, “What am I doing wrong?” he makes sure his tone is as soft as possible. He isn’t angry with you, he just needs you. “It’s not you.” You tell him, tone equally soft. He turns his head to look at you.

“Is it someone else?” He’s terrified of the answer. “What?” You sit up, as though he just asked you to commit murder. Well, that was an encouraging sign. “Are you insane?” You hiss. “You know there isn’t anyone else out there for me.” He presses his lips together and looks back at the ceiling. “Is it too much?” He’s trying hard to puzzle it out. You give a great sigh and grab his hand. “I don’t look the same.” You muttered. He frowns. “You look exactly the same.” He tells you. It’s true, in the ten years of marriage, you look as beautiful and as perfect as the day he met you. You sigh, and flop back down on the bed. “No, I mean,” You struggle to find the right words. “Everything isn’t as tight as it was.” You mutter, blushing.

            Ivar forces down a laugh at your ridiculousness. This is clearly an important sticking point for you. “You had a set of twins.” Ivar says. He brings your hand to his mouth to kiss. “You gave me two daughters to love and care for. My love, I knew your body was going to change after that. It doesn’t make me want you any less.”

            You roll into him and he wraps his arms around you. “I’d like to show you how much I still want you, if you’ll let me.” He kisses your hair, satisfied he’s at least gotten to the root of your problems. “In time,” you mutter. “I promise. For right now just hold me until the girls get up.”

*

            Ivar is aware that to some women, his position within the Lothbrok company makes him desirable despite his legs. You would think they’d have a sense of decorum, considering he wore his wedding band proudly. Not to mention his office was decorated in pictures of his wife, children, and his children’s artworks. What more, he’d even brought his wife and twins to the office party tonight.

            But no, this particular woman simply wouldn’t get the hint. His brother had hired a new secretory a few months ago after the old one retired. Ivar couldn’t be bothered to remember her name, but for some reason, she had targeted him instead of Hvitserk or Sigurd or Ubbe. Ubbe was a prime target right now with all the marriage troubles he’s going though. Ivar had ignored every one of this woman’s advances until now.

            She had lain herself out on his desk, knocking the pictures of his wife and children over, uncaring if the frames broke. She was half naked, dressed in lingerie that, in his very biased opinion, looked ugly on her. He looked at her impassively as she twirled her hair. “Mr. Lothbrok,” She coos, her best approximation at a sultry voice. “Do you like what I’m wearing for you.”

“You’re fired.” He simply says, blood boiling. The girl gives him a disbelieving chuckle. “Mr. Lothbrok-”

“I said you’re fired,” She sits up, looking angry. “If you fire me,” she warns. “I’ll go to the media and destroy your image.”

“In case you haven’t realized,” He snarls. “The media already has a pretty bad image of me.”

“What about your wife? How would she feel if it was splashed all over the news that you had an affair? Your children…” Ivar could’ve strangled her right then, bringing his wife and child into it. “If you don’t leave now, I will call that cops, and I will have you arrested.”

            She climbs down from his desk and walks up to him. “You will regret this.” She snarls, poking his chest. He smirks, they’re nothing but empty words from a desperate woman. “I doubt it. I love my wife, and she loves me, and I’m more than sure she’ll believe me over you any day.” She scoffs. “Please, that overstuffed whale? She’s got nothing on me.” She runs a hand over the lapel of his suit, one last attempt to seduce him. “I’m so much cuter than she is. Younger, better.” Ivar slaps the secretary’s hand away from him. “A maggot shouldn’t compare itself to a goddess.” He hisses.

She whips away from hi, stalking to the office door. Ripping it open, she pauses for a moment, looks back at him, smiling wickedly. “Tonight, was great.” She coos, “I can’t wait until next time.” Ivar is curious as to what the hell she was talking about as she slipped into the hallway. His door, which is heavy enough to close on its own, remains open. Ivar is about to see who’s holding it open, but he doesn’t have to. You walk in, looking furious.


	26. No

            Three days. Three days of nothing but silence. From the moment you saw the secretary walk out of his office until now, you had said nothing to him. It was tearing Ivar in two. There was no doubt in his mind he was going to lose you. What was worse, he was going to lose you over something he had no control over. It was humiliating and infuriating and all over the news. You both did you best to shield the twins from it, but they saw more than you wanted them to.

            Now you were standing in front of him, looking like you’d just gone through hell. He was in his office, trying to get some work done when you walk in. Even with hurt clearly written all over your face, you looked every bit the goddess he believed you to be. He noted the folder in your hand. Giving a resigned sigh, he holds his hand out for it, you place it in his palm wordlessly. He opens it to find the divorce papers inside.

            He had been expecting this. Romantic you were, fool you weren’t. You wouldn’t stand for cheating, even if that hadn’t been the case. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes in a deep, calming breath. Tears would do him no good. He takes the pen beside him and uncaps it. Just as he’s about to sign, you finally speak up. “That’s it then?” You say. He looks at you, not sure what you want him to say. “You’re just going to sign it? You aren’t going to fight for me?”

“You’re the love of my life,” He says, trying his best not to choke up. “I’d fight for you with every last breath in my body. But I’m not going to fight with you.”

“Are you even going to defend yourself?” Ivar throws the pen down and leans back in his chair. He’s angry, angry with himself, angry with the secretary, angry with the world. Why was the world so cruel to him? Giving him such happiness, then taking it all away. “What’s there to say?” He snaps. “What you saw was damning, you’ve clearly made up your mind. As much as I wish this weren’t happening, I’m not going to trap you in this marriage. You know I’d give you the world than see you miserable.”

“You could tell me you didn’t sleep with that woman.” You say quietly. “That you still love me.”

            Ivar looks at you for a long time, trying to calm himself enough so he doesn’t start yelling. “Of course I didn’t sleep with her. That irritating, brown-nosed, trollop came into my office dressed like that and tried to have sex with me, but I wouldn’t. I’d been refusing her since she got hired.”

“So this had been going on for a while.” You say, looking all the more hurt. “Nothing was going on!” Ivar bellowed. He slams his fist into the table, making you jump. “But what does it matter?” He whispers. “What does it matter how much I love you, how much I live for you?”

“ _Do_ you love me Ivar?” He finally meets your eyes for longer than a few seconds. “You know I do. You’re my entire world. I was just some nobody trying to raise Siggtrygg before I met you. Then I became so much more than just ‘Ivar Lothbrok’. I knew what happiness was because of Siggtrygg, but I didn’t know contentment until I got to call you mine.”

“Moving speech.” You say, a bit harshly. “Like I said, what does any of it matter anymore?” He takes the pen back up and makes to sign the papers. Before he can even touch the tip of the pen to the document, it moves up a little. He looks to see your fingertips on the edge. He looks at you, brows furrowed. “Maybe think on it.” You tell him.

*

            Ivar places the last suitcase on the bed and begins throwing his bedclothes inside. There are three suitcases beside the bedroom door, packed with all the essentials, ready for him at a moment’s notice. You’re in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. You’d taken much longer than you usually do, trying to avoid him no doubt. He soothes himself with the knowledge that you won’t have to hide in your own home from him for long.

            It’s been a week since you gave him the divorce papers. Ten days of silence in total. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed you to be happy again, and he could only accomplish that by doing exactly what you wanted of him. On top of all that, he couldn’t stay in a house were happy memories tortured him.

            The smell of your bath soap hits him, and he knows you’re finished, even if he didn’t hear the door open. “You’re leaving.” You state. “Yes,” He says, closing his case and zipping it. “I’ll leave you the house, and the cars. Except the black one.”

“Where will you go?”

“There’s a hotel room I have reserved for me. I’ll stay there until I can find a place.” He turns to you. You’re in your bathrobe, the same look of distress that’s been planted there since all of it began. He longs to take you in his arms and kiss you. He wants to hold you, and breath your scent. He wants to fall asleep beside you and wake in the morning, surer than ever that you’re his and he’s yours. He wants to grow old and gray with you. He wants you to be the last thing he sees before he dies. “I’ll pay the bills of course. Alimony and child support we’ll have to work out with the lawyer. No price is too high though. So, you might want to think on it.”

“You signed the papers?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you want a divorce. I told you, I wasn’t going to trap you in this marriage.” He stands, leaning on one crutch and manages to drag the suitcase with the rest of the others. Turning to you, he straightens, trying to put on his sternest face. “I want joint custody of the girls.” He says finally. “I’ll have a place lined up within the week. I’d like the afternoon half of Thursday through Sunday evening, but the times are negotiable. I’ll give you all holidays but I’d like to be there for Christmas, and for birthdays. Anything else we can go over, with the lawyer.”

            You look at him, tears streaming down your face. You still loved him. God, that made it all the harder. You still loved him, and he loved you. Did you want the same things he did? Would he be able to get away with one last kiss? One to hold and savor for the rest of his days? He’ll never find another woman, he’ll never love anyone but you. And here you were, looking so beautiful. You put the last nail in his coffin when you open your mouth and utter “No.”


	27. Ready

Ivar stares at you, not entirely sure he understood what you were saying ‘no’ to. “What do you mean ‘no’? They’re my daughters, I have a right-”

“No,” you repeat. “I won’t contest the divorce, but I will contest custody of my children.” He snarls at you. You pick up something nearest you, and throw it at him, it misses by a mile, but Ivar suspects you’re just throwing stuff out of anger, not intent to hurt him. “I said no!” You yell. “You aren’t leaving me, you bastard!”. You throw a few more objects. None of them land near him, but he stays and takes in your shouting. In the end, you rush him and begin to hit him. Your blows are weak, so he does little to fend them off.

            When you shove him though, it’s hard enough that it throws him off balance. He reaches out to steady himself, you’re the closest thing to him, so he grabs you, but he’s a great deal heavier, so you both fall. You land on top of him and renew your efforts to work out your frustration. “You my husband!” you continue. “Mine, you can’t leave, I won’t let you. That bitch can’t have you!”

            Ivar grabs your wrists having had enough abuse. You struggle against him, letting out a ferocious scream. It’s a good thing the twins are at Helga and Floki’s, or else all the yelling would surely have them in tears. When you’re done throwing your tantrum, you remain on top, breathing heavy and crying. Ivar takes a moment to register that you’re finished before bringing you into a kiss. He intends for it to be a soft one. He wants to convey his love for you, wipe away your tears, but you have other ideas.

            Taking control, you escape from Ivar’s hold and immediately begin to rip his shirt open. He’s only vaguely aware of a button flying and pinging off something in the distance. He returns your kiss with a fierceness of his own. Rolling you both over, he presses his body into you. You whimper, just like you always do. Though Ivar wants this as bad as you do, he managed to pull back. “You still love me?” He asks. “Yes,” you confirm without hesitation. “You believe me when I say I didn’t sleep with her.”

“I do.” You tell him. “You swear you believe me?” He has to make sure you believe him, it’s important that you believe him. You yank on his shirt and bring him in for another kiss. Ivar groans into your lips and begins to untie the belt keeping your robe together. You work on his pants in the meanwhile. The moment Ivar’s cock is free from his pants he slides into you. No warning, no preparation. It rips groans from you both.

            For the entirety of your relationship, Ivar has only made love to you. Taking his time to worship every inch of your body. Riling you up, giving you whatever you asked of him. In this moment, however, he couldn’t call it anything but fucking. His hips slammed into yours with an animalistic passion he wasn’t aware he possessed. You met him thrust for thrust, clawing at his bare chest, growling with him. The kisses you tried to plant on each other missed more often than they hit.

            This was sloppy, desperate, and perfect in every way. After months of not touching each other, you’re both starved for release. It comes as no surprise how quickly you both come. The moment you start tightening around Ivar’s cock is the moment he can’t hold out any longer. He buries his face in your neck, silent with the force of his orgasm. It’s alright, you’re making enough noise for the both of them. You throw your head back, screaming his name, bucking wildly beneath him, clawing at the carpet. When it’s over, Ivar collapses on top of you. The desire to pick you up and carry you to the bed is fleeting.

            “What changed your mind?” He asked. “You did.” You tell him honestly. He gathers enough energy to look up at you, brows furrowed in confusion. “I thought about it,” You tell him, playing with his hair. “I thought about the type of man you are; the type of husband you are. You aren’t your father, or your brothers, you’re you. You’re Ivar. And Ivar, for all his faults is an honest and loyal man.” You let out a little laugh. “So, when you said you didn’t sleep with her, then I had no choice but the believe with you. You don’t lie. You won’t even like to the children about Santa Clause.”

“It’s a ridiculous tradition,” He mutters. You continue as though you hadn’t heard the comment. “It took me a while to realize you were telling the truth. I was so hurt and angry. But it was either believe me husband of nearly a decade or believe some random trollop.”  

            Ivar leans up and kisses you. “I love you,” He mutters. “I love you too Ivar.” You whisper into his lips. You kiss for some time before you pull back. Smiling, you tell him, “I think I’m ready for another baby.”


	28. Future

 It was a second honeymoon, that’s how Ivar describes your trip to the family cabin in the mountains. A romantic getaway for two, in order for you both to reconnect. Not that you needed it. Ivar seemed to be attached to you at the hip since you’d made up, but you didn’t mind so much, truth be told, you were a little attached too.

           It was a week before Christmas when he announced you were going. You had come home from the store with the twins and everything was already packed. “We leave now,” Ivar told you, handing one of his daughters off to Hvitserk who agreed to take care of the house until then. “So come on, Hvitserk will put the groceries away.” With that, he bundled you up and ushered you into the car.

           The trip was a long one, down winding roads that seemed to go on forever in the endless white of winter. Eventually, you make it to the cabin without incident. It’s cold and echo-y when you first step inside. You can’t help but shudder, likening it to a tomb. That is, until Ivar is on you, pressing you against the door, kissing you for all he’s worth. You giggle, returning his kiss. Before he can get too far, you stop him. “Maybe we should get everything settled first?” He growls but concedes your point.

           It doesn’t take him long to get the heat going and all the dust covers off the furniture. He’s practiced at getting the family cabin ready for the Holidays. You remember a conversation long ago, when you were first invited to the cabin. Ivar and Siggtrygg used to come up there to get it ready for everyone else. “We’d have snowball fights,” Ivar explained to you one night, cuddled next to the fire. “And I’d take him on the snowmobile and we’d see how fast I could get it to go downhill.” You knew he’d take the girl out riding this year, they were old enough to sit and grip onto him. Maybe you’d go as well, taking one of the girls while Ivar takes the other.

           You’re humming a tune, putting clothing away when Ivar creeps up behind you, and begins to plant kisses to you shoulder. When he presses his hips into your backside, you can fill his hard length. “Will you ever get tired of me?” You ask, giggling. You turn in his arms, pressing your lips to his. “No,” he tells you confidently. “You’re the love of my life, mother of my children, you’re stuck with me forever.”

           He moves from your mouth, down along your jaw. The dress you’re wearing is quickly unzipped and thrust down your shoulders. “What a man I’m stuck with then,” You tell him.

           For the entire week that you’re alone, the house is filled with the sounds of your lovemaking. Skin slapping into skin, filthy words whispered into ears, your name and his called out in the dark. Wherever Ivar could take you, he did. The kitchen, the couch by the fire, the study, the only rooms he didn’t touch was the children’s bedrooms.

            It’s after one of these moments, when you’re just drifting off to sleep that Ivar speaks up. “We really don’t have to have another baby,” He tells you, kissing the top of your head. “I didn’t mean to force that on you.” You pinch his side weakly. “You aren’t forcing me,” You say. “I want another one. I think I want a few more.” You crack open an eye to see his face. It’s lit up like the Christmas tree downstairs. “You’re sure?”

“Mhm,” You say sleepily. “How many more is a few?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly. “Why don’t we play it by ear for now? See where life takes us.” Ivar places another soft kiss to your head, saying nothing. As you drift off, leaving him with his thoughts, he can’t help but think of the future. What a bright future that seemed.


End file.
